


Of Fire and Blood

by Enuriel



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Romance, Kidnapping, Multi, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 53,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2778044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enuriel/pseuds/Enuriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Breton girl with a darkened past encounters a sharp-tongued thief on her journey from Valenwood to Skyrim, a deal is struck between the two but will Mirileth be able to keep her end of the bargain when her destiny and a certain rebellious leader get in the way?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The tavern at Bruma was particularly busy on that cold winter night. A few members of the Riften Thieves Guild were on their way back from a meeting with their Cyrodiilic counterparts, and were heavily enjoying the small Imperial town that reminded them of their homeland. Brynjolf however, sat by himself trying to bury his fears at the bottom of a long awaited tankard of mead. The guild in Skyrim was declining, fast. His sharp tongue and wit could not save them now. 

Vex glanced across the tavern at Brynjolf, she knew what he was thinking, she just prayed that they could turn this around. They had come to Cyrodiil to seek assistance from the Guild here, but they were not successful. Vex’s inner worries were interrupted when the entire tavern fell quiet as a small figure stumbled in.   
Mirileth had been walking for what felt like days, she didn’t really know where she but she knew where she was heading. She just needed to rest, and a healing potion or two she thought as she looked down at her blood soaked side. Shit, so much for not making a grand entrance. A tavern maid ran up to her and caught her. “Hell, what happened to you girl?” she exclaimed when she saw the blood on Mirileth’s tunic. The touch of the maid’s hand on Miri’s pained side cause her to collapse, causing her dark hood to fall back, revealing her long waves of silver hair. “Help..me” Is all Miri could get out before she lost consciousness. 

The silence was broken by the sound of someone slamming down a tankard. Everyone in the overcrowded tavern turned to look at Brynjolf, who was already making way towards the young girl at the entrance. He was amused by Vex’s confused look as he scooped up the injured young Breton. What Vex didn’t know, Brynjolf thought, is that a gold mine had just stumbled into their grasp.

When Mirileth came to she became aware of two things: First, someone had removed most of her clothing, and that made her feel more vulnerable than she liked and second, there appeared to be a rather tall hooded figure standing over her bed. The second caused her to reach for her dagger that should have been strapped to her thigh. Needless to say, it wasn’t there. But Mirileth was a mage, and a talented one at that, and within seconds a familiar was at the man’s side. The familiar was no match for Brynjolf, who with one swift swipe of his glass dagger reduced the familiar to ashes on the ground.   
“I must say lass, with all the talk I’ve heard about you I was expecting a bit more than a wolf.” Brynjolf lowered his hood, revealing an amused smirk on his lips.  
He looked the girl up and down; she was young, barely older than fifteen. Her silver hair was tangled and covered in sweat, through the strands of her hair; two large green eyes peered up at him, more in curiosity than fear. He found it hard to believe that this girl could be the cause of so much destruction. 

“What… the hell are you talking about?!” Miri attempted to sit up but the sharp pain in her side pushed her back down again. She let out a defeated sigh before he answered.

“You see, me and my associates where informed that there’s a bounty on offer for anyone who finds the young Breton girl from Valenwood, you seem to match her description almost perfectly.” Brynjolf’s smirk had not faultered. Mirileth could tell that he was awaiting her reaction, he’d heard the stories. He had prepared himself for a fight.

Mirileth knew that in her weakened state, fighting would be useless. It was only when she recognised his armor that it suddenly hit her. Ah, but he doesn’t know the terms of the bounty. 

“You’re a thief. Since when do thieves murder innocent people for money? I thought that was the work of the Brotherhood.” Miri was trying desperately to sound collected, but the pain kept on seeping into her brain. 

“Who said anything about killing you, lass? My associates outside will escort you back to Valenwood, where you will stand trial for your crimes.” His smirk had disappeared and his voice faded to a monotone. She knew that talking her way out of this one was going to be difficult to say the least. 

“Trial? You do realise that they’ve condemned me? There will be no trial, I’ll be sent straight to the hanging rope!” Her patience was wearing thin, Miri knew that she couldn’t be sent back to Valenwood, let alone by a bunch of thieves. 

“They call you the Necromancer of Valenwood. You’ve barely seen you’re fifteenth year, what could’ve compelled you to commit such atrocities?” His voice had grown cold now, Mirileth could sense a hint of distaste in his tone. 

“I study conjuration, and where I come from, simply summoning an atronach makes you a necromancer. I have commited no crime. You should know that if you’re so set on playing a part in my end.” She finally managed to lift herself off the bed so she was now standing, facing him. She could see the strands of auburn hair falling in front of his face. Brynjolf towered over her, and yet somehow he almost felt threatened. There’s darkness in her.   
Brynjolf turned away from Mirileth he stood silently for a few moments; as if he were trying to clear his head and then he started to walk away but stopped when he reached the wooden oak door of the small dim lit room. “Very well, I won’t turn you in. However, four years from now you will come and find me in Riften. You’ll work for me to pay off the money I could have gained from your bounty.” Even he sounded unsure of his little plan; he was finding it incredibly hard to figure this girl out.   
“How do you know that I’ll find you?” Mirileth immediately realised that questioning his seemingly flawed logic was not going to help her situation. She took a hesitant step towards him, her curiosity overcoming her. 

Brynjolf surprised her by turning to face her, the smirk had returned. “Oh you will lass… you will.” And with that, he was out the door. Only moments later Miri heard the sound of hooves riding off into the early dawn.

Mirileth collapsed onto the bed. How is he so sure? I don’t even know his name. Her eyes closed and she felt herself drift off, back to Valenwood. The beautiful colours of the autumn forest. Miri could smell burning somewhere in the distance. Faint screams that became louder as the fire drew closer, engulfing the beauty of the forest in black smoke. The flashes of blinding purple light as the fallen rose again. Necromancer. She had seen his figure in the flames, his eyes had pierced her with their steel gaze. She had only tried to stop him, to save the people she had grown up with, but he had anticipated her every move. Mirileth was a mere thorn in his side. The necromancer had fled, leaving her bleeding in the ground as the fire raged on. When the guards had arrived and found the conjuration books in her ruined home, they wasted no time and set a price on her head. Miri had ran, she did not stop. Not even to mourn her family, her friends or to seek the man who had wronged her and her people. She knew that there was only one place where she would be safe. The College Of Winterhold. Mirileth’s eyes snapped open. She had to move, staying in one place was dangerous now that people in Cyrodiil were starting to recognise her. 

Miri was aware that her features were too distinctive for her own good. She was noticeably small, her hair could be seen from a mile away and her lsightly pointed ears that indicated her elven blood were far too recognisable. She picked up a rag that was slightly stained with her own blood and tied it around her face, so that only her eyes could be seen. She grabbed her dark emerald cloak and hood from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her. She was going to make it. Somehow.   
On her journey to Skyrim she thought often about the tall Nord with the fiery red hair, who had spared her life. She wondered why and how he could have faith in her returning. Miri also dreamt every night of the necromancer, of him lying dead on the ground beneath her feet. The snow stained red with his blood.   
It took Mirileth another month to reach the border of Skyrim; she had not planned on how she was going to enter Skyrim without any official documents stating her identity. Miri wasn’t too concerned though, she could easily sneak past the guards on the border like so many others before her had. She released the horse she had stolen back in Bruma, knowing that from now on she would have to be on foot.   
The border crossing was surprisingly unoccupied. Mirileth did not even bother hidin in the treeline. Snow had started to fall and a strong wind was blowing in from the north. Mirileth pulled her cloak tighter around her as she crossed through the large battered wooden gates into Skyrim.   
The sound of shouting made her stop dead in her tracks. She heard the all too familiar sound of swords clashing and screams of defeat growing closer to her. Mirileth panicked, memories of the fires in Valenwood streaming into her mind. She stood frozen to the spot as the soldiers approached her. Imperials. The dread in her stomach started to rise through her body. 

She heard one of them cry out “Another one over here!” and she finally turned to run, only to be met by an Imperial soldier directly behind her. Pain rushed through her head as his fist connected with her jaw. She lost consciousness as her body hit the cold ground.   
When Mirileth woke, she felt herself being thrown about in a rather uncomfortable basic wooden carriage. Someone reached out to steady her, she could feel that their hands were bound. Miri tried to focus on the person’s face but the pain in her head was causing her vision to blur.   
“You there, you’re finally awake.” His voice was warm and friendly, something Mirileth was growing unaccustomed to. She managed to steady herself, and started to focus on her surroundings. The kind man who had tried to comfort her was light haired Nord, wearing some kind of uniform. She gathered that his name was Ralof and according to the horse thief in the corner he was part of the Stormcloak rebellion. Great, I can’t talk my way out of this one. At least they didn’t know who she was, or rather who she was accused of being. The Imperials hadn’t bothered removing her mask or hood, and yet she felt like laughing in spite of her bad luck. I seem to have escaped being accused of one crime I did not commit, only to be executed for another, which I again had no part in. She noticed through the corner of her eye that the famed leader of the rebellion was looking at her, no doubt wondering how she managed to get dragged into this mess. She wondered if he even felt guilty that she was about to die for him, against her own will. 

 

They reached Helgen shortly after she woke, they were being sent straight to the executioner’s block. Mirileth felt her will leaving her. I’m going to die here, thousands of leagues away from home. And he will live on, free from the atrocity he committed. Two Imperials called out names from a list, and one by one her fellow carriage mates left to line up for the chopping block, including Ulfric. Her name wasn’t on the list, she wasn’t surprised. They had knocked her out before they even asked for her details. In a way she was glad, that way they couldn’t link her to the Necromancer of Valenwood. But it didn’t matter now, she was going to die anyway. One of the soldiers was a Nord, he was kinder than the rest of his comrades, and she could see his discomfort in sending her to her death. Again, it didn’t matter because the female imperial beside him ordered her to the executioner anyway. 

Why have the divines forsaken me? Tears welled up in Miri’s eyes, but she fought them back. She was going to die with some dignity.   
Ralof looked at the small girl that stood beside him, how she flinched when the first of his comrade’s heads fell to the frozen ground. His heart fell when the Imperial bitch called out the young Breton to be next. His dismay was stilled by the sound of a might roar in the skies. His head shot up, looking for the source of the screech, he glanced at Ulfric who looked equally confused. The Imperial grabbed the girl and pulled her to the block, and when she stripped her of her hood and mask a silence fell around them. 

The girl was quite unlike any Breton he’d ever encountered before, and clearly younger than anyone had thought. Even the heartless Imperial hesitated, and he saw Hadvar look at the young girl in shock. Surely they won’t execute a child? he thought, But the Imperial pushed her down on the block, and yanked the girl’s silver hair out of the way. He shot a look to Ulfric and was surprised to see him tensed up. Ralof shook his head and lowered his head. He waited for the sickening sound of her head rolling into the basket but it never came. Instead another great roar echoed through the sky, and a serpent as black as night, landed on the tower above them. The roars echoed through the tiny village and the sky turned red. Meteors struck from every direction. It took Ralof a moment to come to his senses and when he did the first thing he thought of was the girl, swaying dangerously still lying on the block. He ran to her and screamed at her to follow him.   
“We’re not going to get another chance!” Ralof shouted, beckoning for her to follow him to the opposite tower where he had seen Ulfric run in to.   
Mirileth looked up to see the dragon perched on top of the tower, she could have sworn that it was looking at her. It’s eyes burned into her and she felt herself find her feet, she wasted no time running after Ralof. 

The small group of Stormcloak’s fought their way through Helgen, evading the dragon’s attacks. Ulfric couldn’t alter his gaze from the Breton girl when she fought. As soon as Ralof had relieved her of her bound hands, a conjured sword appeared in her hand and a familiar by her side. The way she fought could almost be described as graceful, and certainly not what you would expect from a girl who was just escaping her child years. They fought their way through the keep, cutting down any Imperials or beasts that stood in their way. 

They emerged hours later from the other end of the keep, through a small cave entrance under the small village. They all took a moment to catch their breaths, all except Mirileth, who was ready to begin her trek to Winterhold. She had abandoned her magic abilities for an Imperial bow, using magicka for a vast amount of time had proven to be more than she could bear. As she gathered herself, she felt a hand grab her shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going, girl?” Ulfric’s tone was cold, but Miri could detect an undertone of concern that she did not much care for. 

“The College, I can’t delay my journey any further.” She knew as soon as she said it that it probably wasn’t wise, after all Nords were not fond of mages.

“Very well, Ralof here will escort you to the nearest village. From there I suggest you get a carriage from Whiterun. The wilds in this land area dangerous place, I don’t want you travelling alone.” His reply had shocked her. They had only met that morning, and he seemed so protective of her. Well done Miri, you’ve managed to gain the favour of the potential High King, she thought to herself. She had to stifle a giggle that was rising in her throat, instead she smiled at Ulfric and went to stand next to Ralof. 

“Oh, and Mirileth… When you finish your studies at the college, there will be a place for you in the ranks of my army.” This made Miri stop and turn to face him once more. He was not smiling at her, but there was a look in his eyes… she couldn’t quite determine what it was. Mirileth suddenly realised that he was awaiting her reply.  
“Thank you, I am grateful.” She smiled sweetly at the Jarl and turned to catch up with Ralof who had already started to walk towards Riverwood. 

That night as she slept on the floor of a stranger’s house next to Ralof, in the small riverside village, she let her silent tears run free. She had endured too much, and her grief was engulfing her. She managed to supress her sobs, but she hadn’t seen Ralof open his eyes next to her. He let her weep, not sure how to comfort the mysterious girl who he had crossed paths with.


	2. The Claw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirileth is finding it hard to forget the deal she struck with the Bruma thief, meanwhile her destiny becomes evidently clear to her.

Miri walked into the small general store in Riverwood and was pleasantly surprised by the cosiness of the small store. She was less pleasantly surprised to find the two shop workers in the middle of a rather heated argument. She had wondered in there to see if they sold any spell books that she could read on her way to Winterhold. Ralof would not leave her side, she guessed that Ulfric had ordered him to keep a close eye on her while she was still in his company. Ralof shifted uncomfortably beside her as the awkward tension filled the air in the store. Mirileth caught something about some thieves stealing a golden claw. The mention of the word ‘theif’ created a pit in her stomach as she remembered the deal that she made with the red haired thief back in Bruma. The unsettling smirk when he had stated that she would find him. Four years from now. Four years is a long time she thought, would he even remember her?

Her flashback was cut short when the store owner let out an awkward cough, indicating that their presence had been noted. Miri walked up to the counter of the shop and looked up at the man behind the large wooden counter  
.   
“I’m sorry, did something happen?” Miri asked politely, in truth she was curious about the mention of thieves, she didn’t know why, put she felt a pull towards the Bruma thief. Although Winterhold was her destination, she supposed finding out information about him along the way couldn’t hurt.   
The store owner explained the events of the robbery, and Mirileth’s heart dropped when he said that bandits were behind it, but nonetheless she felt sorry for these people who had suffered so severely. Before she could stop herself, she offered to retrieve it. She heard Ralof’s sharp inhale of breath behind her. As soon as they were out of the store Ralof grabbed her by her elbow and spun her around to face him. 

“I can’t let you go up there.” He was trying his best to sound strict; if Ralof knew anything about her then he would’ve known that treating her like a child would only encourage her further. 

“That’s too bad, because I’m going. And not you or a bunch of lowly bandits are going to stop me.” Miri retracted her elbow sharply, freeing herself from his grasp.  
Ralof raised his arms in apology, not wishing to offend the girl. He found it impressive how this child had made it so far.

“I’m sorry Ralof, I know you mean well… I just want to do things my way for a while, I need training and Bleak Falls sounds like a way of gaining experience in the field.” She looked up at the fair haired Nord with her large green eyes, he laughed at her feeble attempt at puppy eyes.

“An Ancient Nordic ruin, “experience in the field?” girl you’re going to get yourself killed with that kind of recklessness.” He paused to take in her look of pure frustration. “But I’ll let you go on one condition. I will accompany you there and back.” He smiled when her face lit up and she leapt up to hug him. 

“I’m not too keen on this, so you better be prepared.” He set her down on her feet in front of him. He then proceeded to drag her back to Gerdur’s house where they spent the rest of the day training. By the end of the day Ralof wasn’t sure who had learnt more moves, him or her. They decided that they would rest and set off at dawn to retrieve the golden claw. 

It took them less than an hour to trek up the mountainside to Bleak Falls Barrow. They had encountered a small bandit camp in a ruined tower on the way, but Mithiriel had swiftly taken care of them with her bow. It scared Ralof how easy it was for her to take a life. 

Bleak Falls Barrow was full of bandits, they hadn’t even made it through the entrance and they had arrows flying at them from all directions. Miri’s familiars easily took care of most of them, but not fast enough to save Ralof from an arrow to the shoulder. He cried out in pain before running up to the bandit the arrow had belonged to and plunging his sword into his gut. Ralof collapsed in a heap in the blood stained snow and stone. Mirileth was quick to come to his aid; she dragged him inside the barrow and hid him behind one of the columns. 

“I’ll be right back with a healing potion, I promise, just lay low…please” Her voice cracked and he realised she was scared; she didn’t want to lose him. Ralof was touched by her sudden outburst of emotion towards him, and reached out to her with his good arm, wiping a tear away from her cheek. “Go, I’ll be fine. It’s nothing too serious.” In truth he had suffered worse, but just not in the middle of a Nordic ruin. 

Mirileth rushed through the ruins, killing anything that got in her way. She was a bright flame, so the puzzles were no match for her. However, the poison from a giant Frostbite spider had weakened her. She had managed to locate the claw, and the bandit who possessed it. He had been less than cooperative, leaving her no choice but to set her familiar upon him. She had found a healing potion, but was too far into the ruins to turn back now. There seemed to be some kind of energy pulling her to the final chamber of the ruin. When she got past the impressive puzzle door, the sight that awaited her was quite unlike anything she had ever seen before. It was a huge cavern; there was a stream that ran through it. In the centre of the cavern stood a huge stone structure, upon closer inspection it appeared to be a curved stone wall with strange markings all over. As she drew closer, the energy pulling her towards the wall became visible, it surrounded her in waves and she felt her vision darken as the engravings on the wall started to glow, burning into her mind. The suddenly it was over, the light returned to the cavern and her vision became clear again. Mirileth had no time to react before a huge draugr smashed out of the tomb and launched at her. Miri conjured a sword to defend herself against the draugr’s attacks. Fighting the undead wasn’t ever something she pictured herself doing, but there she was. She managed to get a few decent hits on the draugr and finished him off with a firebolt that sent him flying into the wall. Miri looked inside the draugr’s tomb to find a strange stone tablet inside, she put it in her pack for safe keep and hurriedly made her way back to Ralof.

 

Ralof was ready to go in after her, Mirileth had been gone for far too long and he was worried that the draugr had proven to be too much for her to handle. But before he could lift himself off the ground, he heard footsteps coming from the steps that led down into the depths of the barrow. When Miri emerged she was covered in blood and dirt, she was almost unrecognisable. When she saw him she quickened her pace, healing potion in hand. When she reached him she wasted no time pulling the arrow out of him, causing him to wince in pain. She made him down the entire potion before lying down beside him. They rested there for a couple of hours before she informed him that he would have to return the claw to Riverwood without her. Miri explained that she had found a strange tablet in the cavern that she needed to take to a court wizard immediately, something about it didn’t seem right, plus it would probably fetch a fair price as a relic. She needed coins if she was going to make it to the College.

Her journey to Whiterun was short and uneventful; she stopped at the river banks to wash the blood and grime off her and her fur armour before heading towards the stables of Whiterun. 

Whiterun was a large bustling city, it seemed friendly and Mirileth liked the atmosphere there. Miri made straight for Dragonreach. Although she originally had not intended to speak with Jarl Balgruuf, she remembered Gerdur’s request that she should inform the Jarl of the dragon attack. Balgruuf was incredibly understanding of her situation, and was grateful that she had retrieved the tablet from Bleak Falls. His congratulory speech was interrupted by his housecarl Irileth, a dunmer warrior. She breathlessly informed them that a dragon was attacking the western watchtower. Miri froze in fear, remembering the black dragon’s piercing gaze. “We need you; you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here!” Balgruuf said as soon as he noted her hesitation. Admittedly he wasn’t keen on sending a girl so young into battle, but the stone tablet that Farengar now clutched in his hands proved that she was not ordinary girl. 

Miri’s body shook violently as she and Irileth stalked up to the watchtower. Mirileth had her bow drawn, ready to attack. The sickly familiar distant roar of the dragon caused Miri to jump, almost shooting an arrow into Irileth’s arm. 

This dragon was smart, it never stuck too long in one place, but Mirileth’s archery skill had the dragon on the ground within the hour. A few slashes of her bound sword and the dragon let out a screech before collapsing on the ground. Miri started to back away when the body burst into flames, energy started to seep from the dragon’s body, drawing Mirileth in. The waves of energy circled around here before plunging into her body, leaving her breathless.   
In that moment she knew, it was as if her future suddenly unfolded before her eyes. She knew what she was.

That night she walked into the Bannered Mare in Whiterun, seeking some sort of alcoholic beverage to soothe her nerves. Miri sat down at the bar and pulled her hood up, not wishing to attract any unwanted attention after her victory at the watchtower. Hulda offered her some mead, which was greatly appreciated after the day Miri had had. Mirileth hesitated before taking a sip of her mead, she felt a pair of eyes on her. She shifted uncomfortably on her stool, and stole a glance behind her. Sat in the corner, against the wall, was another hooded figure. Mirileth's heart stopped when she recognized the light blonde hair seeping through the hood. It was one of the Bruma thief's associates, the girl who was with him. Miri suddenly felt extremely vulnerable, she picked up her pack and stormed out of the tavern, leaving Vex in the corner laughing to herself.


	3. The Birth Of A Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirileth continues to grow in power, while an unseen enemy emerges from the far east.

In the months that passed Mirileth was faced with several hard decisions. Firstly, she had become the youngest person to ever be appointed Thane of Whiterun, which meant that she spent a lot of time hunting down bandits with her housecarl, Lydia. Secondly, Miri had to compromise her future as a mage for the College to train with the Companions and receive a disciplined education from the Greybeards in the art of the Thu’um. 

She promised herself that she would eventually graduate from the College, as her father had wanted her to. Miri felt her powers growing, after absorbing her first dragon soul she could feel her magicka surging and her spells had become more precise. The Greybeards were having trouble teaching her how to control it. They feared what Mirileth could become if she was guided to the wrong path, and they went to great measures to teach her moral standards and values. They made sure that she knew how much every life mattered.

With the sudden unravelling of her destiny, Miri had little time to think of the promise she had made the thief what seemed like years ago. But even so, she avoided Riften like the plague. A recurring dream had started to creep into her mind during the cold windy nights at High Hrothgar, a repeat of that night at the tavern in Bruma. Her mind would not let her forget her reluctant promise. 

One night while Mirileth was standing by the large bonfire in the courtyard, Arngeir approached her with the latest new from the world below. The usual dragon attacks and ongoing civil war business.  
“You show great promise, Dragonborn.” His voice was always so stern, and he never used her real name. It bothered her sometimes. It almost felt as if he was purposefully distancing himself from her. 

Mirileth nodded modestly. “Thank you, Master.” She avoided eye contact with him, keeping her eyes on the flames that contrasted brightly with the pure whiteness of the mountain.   
“We have agreed that you are ready to take on your first trial. You are to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller from Ustengrav.” At least he cut to the point, Miri thought blankly to herself. 

“Very well, I’ll leave at dawn.” Mirileth didn’t even know where Ustengrav was, but she longed to be free from the isolation of that cold mountain. 

“One more thing, we received a letter from Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm he has requested your presence in his court once you are through with your training here and in Whiterun with the Companions.” Arngeir tried to meet her gaze this time, waiting to see her reaction. 

Mirileth merely shrugged “Send him a note in reply; I will visit him briefly after I retrieve the horn. But I will not be able to stay for long as I wish to commence my studies at the College as soon as possible.” Miri’s eyes never left the fire. She pulled her fur cloak tightly around her to shield her from the harsh climate.   
Arngeir realized that she was going to speak no more and departed back to the tower to pray.

Mirileth made her first stop at Whiterun, mainly to pick up Lydia but also to see Aela, who had become her mentor in Jorrvaskr. Miri had grown fond of the trading city situated in the middle of Skyrim. However she felt slightly uneasy coming back here after her encounter with Vex at the Bannered Mare. Miri wanted to laugh at herself. I can slay dragons, but the mere thought of those thieves makes me run for the hills, she thought to herself as she walked into Breezehome in search of Lydia.   
She and Lydia had grown close ever since Miri had been granted the title of Thane, although Lydia’s undying loyalty often annoyed Mirileth, who sometimes believed that Lydia was incapable of thinking for herself. But Lydia was the only person who Mirileth had told about her past, and Lydia vowed to help her bring the foul being who had slaughtered her people to justice. 

Mirileth found Lydia reading in her room, and felt bad for dragging her back into battle. In truth, Miri preferred to work alone, but the road to Ustengrav was a long one and she would appreciate the company. The two made their way up to Jorrvaskr so that Mirileth could show off her new skills to her comrades.  
The first to greet her was Farkas, who pulled her into a rough hug, leaving Miri slightly breathless. He was always kind to her; he and Aela were the first to warm up to the young Dragonborn. 

Mirileth walked around the back to the training yard, where Vilkas stood as if awaiting her arrival. Vilkas did not share the fondness the others felt for their newest member. To him she seemed like a naïve girl, she was barely even a woman. 

Miri was about to walk straight past him, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.   
“And where do you think you’re going? Aela told me that your prowess in battle is becoming impressive. I was hoping to put that statement to the test.” Mirileth shifted uncomfortably on her feet. She wasn’t in the mood for this; however a chance to knock his arrogant hide to the dirt could not be so easily dismissed.

Mirileth yanked her arm free and conjured her sword. She smirked when she saw Vilkas hesitate at the sight of magic. But Vilkas’ hesitation was brief and within seconds his great sword was out, swinging at her from all directions. He was far stronger than her, and was beating her quite rapidly. However, Mirileth had another trick up her sleeve and conjured a second sword, and Vilkas faltered. Miri knew that with his two handed sword he would struggle fighting against a dual wielder. It wasn’t long before she saw the opportunity and kicked out, sending him crashing to the ground.   
That night at Jorrvaskr, an awkward tension filled the air.

 

 

It was a warm night in Riften, most of the townspeople had gathered at The Bee and Barb, apparently there were some Bard’s College students playing there that night. Not that Brynjolf cared that much, that night he had business matters to attend to. 

He had spent the day with Tonilia at Honeyside, it was a stupid move on his part, and he was well aware of it. Brynjolf was always cautious never to mix business with pleasure, but Tonilia possessed an exotic beauty and fiery attitude that he liked, and Honeyside was currently vacant. He had left her asleep in the old tattered bed, he knew that she wouldn’t be angry when she woke and he was not there. Tonilia knew that there was no label on their little arrangement; it was just a bit entertainment for the both of them. 

He was going to meet Maven at her Manor, which made him rather uncomfortable. Bryn didn’t like it when he didn’t have control of the situation, it made him feel vulnerable. And that was a feeling he could not stand. 

 

 

Maven was waiting for him in the dining room. As usual she sat at the head of the table, head held high. Brynjolf did not bother taking a seat; instead he stood at the opposite end of the table, resting his palms on the surface.

“I’ve called you here to discuss a rather pressing matter Brynjolf, I’m going to ask you to carry out a task which I’m sure you’ll object to.” Her tone was monotonous, as per usual. Brynjolf didn’t speak; he’d learnt that with Maven, it was best to just let her get to the point on her own. 

“I want your organisation to keep an eye on a certain individual, and before you say it, I cannot summon the Dark Brotherhood. This individual could prove to be a tremendous asset; I do not want her dead.” Maven wasn’t even looking at him, she was writing some kind of letter. Now it was Bryn’s turn to speak.

“We’re thieves Maven, not watchdogs. But if the price is right, I’m sure I can find someone for the job.” His gaze never left her. He did not care for Maven’s arrogance and disrespectful attitude towards anyone that was not she. 

“I don’t want someone to do it Brynjolf. I called you here for a reason, otherwise I would of contacted Mercer. You will carry out this task. No questions asked. You will report back to me each week.” Maven still did not lift her gaze from the parchment.  
Brynjolf shifted feet, his discomfort was blatantly obvious. He knew that to refuse would most likely mean the Brotherhood turning up at his door. Plus there was probably good sum of gold in it for him. 

“Who am I shadowing then?” The annoyance in his tone was clearer than he had intended.

Maven looked up at him, her face completely emotionless. “The Dragonborn.”


	4. An Unexpected Reunion

Mirileth stared in awe at the chamber that lay before her, as she walked forward two great statues emerged from the pools of water on either side of her. At the end of the chamber was what she had gone there for, or so she thought.   
Once she reached the resting place of the horn, she was met with a unpleasant surprise. The horn was gone and in its place was a note.   
Apparently someone had reached there before her, taking the horn with them, they requested that Mirileth should meet them at the Riverwood Inn. Great, Mirileth thought, just what I bloody needed. She turned to look at Lydia, who did not look pleased that their quest would take longer than originally anticipated.   
“Right back to where we started.” Miri sighed.

Brynjolf walked up to the dark haired nord who was leaning against the wall in The Bee and Barb. She exhaled loudly when she saw him. Bryn pitied Sapphire, which was probably the sole reason why he put up with her disrespectful nature. He leant on the wall next to her. They stood for a few moments in silence, watching the comings and goings of the people of Riften.   
“I need some intel on a target Maven has asked me to keep an eye on.” Brynjolf did not move, he kept his eyes fixed on the surroundings. Sapphire raised an eyebrow.  
“They call her the Dragonborn, have you heard anything?” Bryn smirked when Sapphire stepped in front of him, forcing him to meet her intrigued gaze.   
Sapphire looked at his expression, trying to determine whether he was serious.  
“She’s just a girl according to Keerava, and she’s a Breton. Took down a dragon with a single conjured blade.” Brynjolf’s expression did not change; he continued to look Sapphire in the eye, his arms folded. 

“Ah, a mage. Any clues on what she looks like? I need to be able to find this lass.” Sapphire glanced around her, making sure that no one was listening in to their conversation.

“They’re calling her quite the beauty, even though she’s practically a child. Her most notable feature is her hair, it’s said to be completely silver.” Brynjolf’s eyes widened as he put the pieces together. He unfolded his arms and patted Sapphire on the shoulder in thanks, which earned him a scoff from her. He walked out of the inn deep in thought. He remembered the girl he had run into almost a year ago, and the crimes she was accused of. He wondered how it would fair if the people of Skyrim knew that their hero was an alleged mass murderer. He smiled to himself when he realised that he had something he could use against the Dragonborn. Their little deal back in Bruma would have to be put on hold, because Brynjolf now had a way to get more than he had bargained for. 

 

Several months later.

 

Mirileth lay awake in her bed at the Palace of The Kings. The palace chambers were cold and Miri felt as if her privacy had been taken from her with the amount of guards that patrolled the halls. Ulfric had offered her a chamber in his palace during her period of brief rest before she went back to saving the world. It had not taken Mirileth long to realise that Ulfric had invited her there to persuade her to join his side in the war. She turned her head to look out the window, the sky was darkening and she dreaded what the evening would bring.   
The jarl was hosting a ball, something that he very rarely did according to Ralof. It was meant to be a chance for all of the more prominent citizens of Skyrim to meet the prophesized heroine of their country. 

Mirileth sat up on the bed, eyeing the emerald green gown that was draped across a chair at the opposite end of the room. Ulfric had given it to her that morning.   
“It matches your eyes.” He had said, not looking her in the eye, instead he was looking at her newly crafted glass bow; it glimmered in the light that seeped in through the tall windows. 

Miri had blushed, not sure how to respond. She felt unsure what the leader’s intentions on her were. “Thank you, I look forward to wearing it tonight.” She knew that she had said it unconvincingly, and that he had noticed.

Ulfric met her gaze, no detectable emotion on his face. “A woman named Delphine came here searching for you; I don’t want you mixing with the Blades. They are dogs of the Empire.” Mirileth moved to sit down on the bed, visibly irritated.

“I need their help if I am to win this war against the dragons.” She started fiddling with the hem of her plain blue dress. Ulfric intimidated her, and she was letting it show too much.

Ulfric walked towards her, not once breaking eye contact. He stopped when he was standing directly in front of her. He reached out and cupped her chin, glancing down at her plump lips. He lifted her chin, causing her to get up from the bed. She was peering up at him with her large green eyes. She was afraid, and he was well aware. 

“You are not to bring them within the walls of my city.” And with that he let go of her chin and stormed out of her room.   
Mirileth waited for the door to slam before she broke down, tears rolling down her cheeks. She cried out and the walls of the room shook, responding to her Thu’um. There was a creak from outside the door and Miri’s head shot up, and she wiped away her tears. She knew that someone had been watching her, but right now that seemed to be the least of her worries.

 

Mirileth looked at her reflection in the polished silver plate that Lydia held in front of her. The dress was a perfect fit, the corset beautifully decorated with golden embroidery, the sleeves were dark green lace. The emerald skirt was floor length and reminded Miri of all the beautiful gowns she had seen in illustrations in books she had read when she was younger.   
Miri’s silver waves of hair were half pinned up, the rest rested on her back and chest, her hair had grown long past her waist and Miri realised that a hair cut would eventually need to happen. Seeing herself look pristine and noble almost made her forget her meeting with Ulfric that morning. 

 

Mirileth felt as if she carried the entire world on her shoulders as she entered the great hall. Everyone in the room turned to look at her. The hall was full of nobles in extravagant clothes. Miri looked around the room for Ralof as the music started playing again. She needed a friendly face by her side as Lydia had not been permitted to attend. And Ralof had been a good friend to her since the beginning.

Ulfric sat on his throne and watched his guests enjoy the celebration he had provided. That he had provided for her. Even the bards had stopped playing when she had entered; everyone’s eyes were on her. She looked beautiful in that dress, he could see that she was a woman now. He watched her for a while, noting how her silver hair shone in the light of the hall, he wondered what that hair would look like splayed out on his pillow as she lay beneath him. Ulfric had to stop himself, he was trying to not disrespect her, or scare her away but his temper and impatience were getting in the way.   
He saw that she was looking for Ralof, but Ulfric had made sure that he did not attend that night’s festivities, Ulfric was growing uncomfortable with the amount of time those two had been spending together and although he trusted Ralof and thought of him as a brother, he still feared that he could take her from him. 

 

Mirileth slithered her way to the other side of the room and rested herself against the wall. She could not find Ralof anywhere and she had been stopped countless times by people who asked her the same questions over and over again. She was about to retreat to her room when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s a fine party, isn’t it lass?” Brynjolf smiled down at her.

Mirileth felt her jaw drop as the red haired thief looked down at her. She felt an anxiety spread in her stomach as she struggled to string together some words to form a sentence.

“Wh- What the hell are you doing here?” Her voice shook and she wanted to kick herself. 

Brynjolf’s smile now disappeared and an unsettling look came over his face, he eyed her from top to bottom. “You’ve grown since we last met, don’t think I’ve forgotten your debt.” He started to move away from her but turned back just before he disappeared into the crowd  
.  
“And by the way, I’m not too sure about the green” And there that smirk was again.

Mirileth looked down at her dress and was about to retort when she looked up to find that he had disappeared.


	5. New Dawn

Later on in the evening, the guests were all sat around the long table in the great hall. Ulfric sat at the head of the table, with Mirileth seated to his left in complete silence while the guests around them laughed and sung.  
Miri fidgeted with the lace of her sleeves with her eyes downcast. She was scared to look up in case she made eye contact with Brynjolf who was sitting opposite her a couple of seats down, or even worse, Ulfric. 

The conversation around the table quickly turned into a debate of the current state of Skyrim under the influence of the Empire. All Miri could hear was complaint after complaint of the Empire's principals, she thought of the young Imperial who had helpt her at Helgen, Hadvar. Miri's attention was quickly brought back to the present when she heard the familiar strange accent of the red haired Nord.  
"I hear they're even letting criminals through the border. About a year ago they let a mass murderer from Valenwood through." Mirileth inhaled sharply, straightening her back. She could barely hide the look of pure fear that had appeared on her face. He was going to tell Ulfric, in front of everyone.

Mirileth knew that she had to run, then and there. She was relieved that Brynjolf's statement had caused uproar around the table, and she saw her opportunity to leave.  
For the first time that entire evening, she leant over to Ulfric.  
"I must apologise my Jarl, but I'm afraid all this drink appears to be affecting me quite drastically, I would like to gain permission to go to my chambers." She wrapped it up with a sweet smile. Ulfric was taken by surprise at her sudden show of endearment.  
"Go and rest, we'll speak in the morning." His tone was cold and for a moment she felt sorry for having offended him earlier, but it was only a moment. 

Miri rose from the table and shot a deathly glare to Brynjolf's who in turn, raised his tankard and smirked. Mirileth didn't know what he was trying to accomplish, but she wasn't about to stick around to find out. She swiftly exited the hall and once clear of the gazes of the guests, ran through the palace to find Lydia.

Lydia had been enjoying a game of cards with Ralof in Miri's chambers, she found that she enjoyed his company, in the short time that they had been staying in the palace Ralof had been nothing but kind and supportive of Miri. Lydia also noted with some amusement, that Ralof was easy on the eye, and let his gaze linger upon her.  
Their card game was interrupted by Mirileth bursting through the door, panting and hair dishevelled. She halted when she saw Ralof, and Lydia saw brief panicked expression cross the girl's face. 

Mirileth had not expected Ralof to be there, but she wasn't in the place to start demanding explanations, she hesitated as she knew that Ralof was loyal to Ulfric, willing to die for him. She had to think quickly. She began to stumble as an idea hit her.  
"Ouf, I'm terribly sorry to interrupt, but this corset is killing me. Lydia I need your help getting this bloody thing off." Miri made her breathing go shallow, and grasped onto the bed post as if gasping for air.  
Ralof nodded to Lydia and quickly departed from the room, winking at Miri on his way out. As soon as he was gone, Miri stood up straight and grabbed Lydia by the shoulders.

"There is no time to explain, but I need to leave, now. You must return to Whiterun and tell Kodlak that I have to lay low for a while, so I do not know when I will return." Lydia stared back at Mirileth her jaw unhinged.  
"Lydia, please do this for me, there is a man down there that is about to accuse me of the Valenwood murders and I need to leave now." This statement caused Lydia to gasp, but then she quickly nodded and ran to the dresser and pulled out a pair of leather trousers and a tunic and threw them at Mirileth, who was already taking off the dress. Lydia rushed around the room throwing all of Miri's things into her pack.

Once Mirileth was dressed she threw on her dark cloak and tied a black rag around her face. She turned round to see Lydia holding her pack out for her to take, along with a long piece of rope.  
"Use this to climb out of the window, once you reach the next city, send me a note letting me know what you're plans are." Mirileth felt tears welling in her eyes, knowing that it was going to be a long time until they met again. She pulled Lydia into a hug and she didn't want to let her go.  
"Long life to you, Thane" Lydia could feel Miri's tears on her cheek and gently pushed her away. 

"Run." 

Miri climbed down from the window, still gently sobbing form her parting with Lydia. The rope was much shorter than the drop from the window to the cold snowy ground so Miri had to let go of the rope and drop down. She managed to land on her feet with her arms steadying her. When she looked up she nearly screamed with frustration when she saw Brynjolf leaning against the wall opposite her. He had somehow had the time to change out of his noble clothes and was once again wearing his faded navy blue leather armour. He currently biting into an apple as he looked at her, unamused. Mirileth conjured swords in both her hands which caused Brynjolf to raise an eyebrow and throw the apple to the ground. 

"I'm not going to fight you, lass." That "lass" at the end had Miri clenching her teeth in fury.  
"You told them, didn't you." He was surprised by. The sheer lack of emotion in her voice. She dropped her conjured swords, and they disappeared in two faint flashes of purple before they hit the ground. 

"Yes, and a manhunt is about to be well under way. Even if Ulfric is a bit reluctant to arrest you. You've cast quite the spell on him." His impressed tone on his last sentence made Mirileth's eyes narrow as she clenched her fists.

"Why bother going through all this trouble?" She spat out the words and Brynjolf wasn't shocked by her anger.  
"Because I want you in my organisation. I was sent here tonight in Maven Black-Briar's place to improve relationships with Ulfric, and I found you. He's dangerous lass, don't think for a second that his intentions for you are of a noble cause." Brynjolf was mocking her intelligence, testing her and Miri knew it. 

"Well you have accomplished what you came here for. I now have nowhere to run to. But why would I even consider joining up with you? I am no thief." Mirileth took a step towards him and cocked her head.  
"It's all about sizing up your mark, lass. I can tell that you haven't done an honest day's work in all your life for all that coin you carry." Brynjolf's smirk faded and he leant back against the wall awaiting her reaction. He was beginning to enjoy their little encounters.  
"My wealth is none of your business!" The raise in her voice caught Brynjolf off guard, but his posture did not shift.  
"I have no forgotten our deal, Mirileth. You still have three more years to come to Riften, and pay off your bounty. But now it seems you'll have to work for me for a more long term arrangement seeing as after tonight you'll be a wanted criminal. You have nowhere else to go." He unfolded his arms and began to walk away, but turned back before he disappeared into the shadows.  
"I know that you despise me for doing this, lass but just know that I mean you no harm." At this point Mirileth was glad that she had worn the mask, because tears of anger and desperation had begun to flow. But he still saw, and within seconds the shadows took him.

Mirileth managed to sneak her way to the stables without being seen, and stole one of the horses left out. It was tall and dark with white socks on each of it's legs. She was heading for Shor's Stone, where she knew that news of the accusations against her would not be known. From there she would make a decision on whether to carry onto Riften or go to Riverwood to see if Delphine would still help her. Miri knew that Delphine would believe her innocence, but she doubted that she would harbour a wanted alleged criminal.  
On the ride to Shor's Stone, Mirileth thought about what her future would be like now, that she had no one left. All she had was her destiny, to save a world that had done nothing but burn her over and over again. She was done with being the hero that the people wanted, she had to be the hero that they needed. 

 

It had been two years since anyone had heard anything about the Dragonborn. The people of Skyrim where in a state of panic, convinced that their hero was a murderer and a necromancer. Most assumed that she was dead, apart from Ulfric, who never stopped searching for her. There were few people in Skyrim who knew what had really happened to the mythical Dovahkiin, the truth was that she had exiled herself in Sky Haven Temple, focusing on rebuilding the Blades and locating the Elder Scroll that would show her the Thu'um to defeat Alduin. But Mirileth was no longer the naive girl who's destiny had been forced upon her, she had grown into a cold distant young woman. The Blades recruits were scared of her and her methods. 

 

Brynjolf awoke alone and bare in the plain bed in Honeyside, he raked his brain trying to recall which tavern girl he'd spent the night with. That night it had been Svana from the Bunkhouse and she had not bothered to stay, which wasn't surprising as when they had reached their climax that night, it had not been Svana's name that Brynjolf called out. 

He thought of the last time he saw Mirileth, it had been a few weeks before. She had completed yet another job successfully and wanted her cut. Her hair appeared to be a darker shade of silver and there were now faded dark circles around her bright green eyes. But she was still as beautiful as ever, and he hated how every time she looked at him even if her eyes were cold, he felt a pit in his stomach. He would often have to stop himself thinking about her large forest green eyes and her full lips at night, and instead would try to find her in any other woman who would lie with him. He knew that Mirileth still hated him for outing her to the world, but there were moments, in the Guild in the days where Miri bothered to stick around instead of disappearing off to the Reach where he would catch her smiling or even laughing with Rune or Vex and he would feel his chest tighten. He was aware that his growing attraction to her was unhealthy, she was far younger than him and also happened to have the weight of Tamriel on her shoulders, he also knew that by loving her he would be putting the Guild at risk and he hated that. 

Brynjolf got up from the bed and threw on his leather trousers before assessing that he had run out of mead. He kept a stash in the basement for when he brought ladies back to there. Even though he technically didn't own Honeyside, it was becoming a second home to him. Bryn trod down the stairs to the basement and cried out when he was suddenly shoved up against the wall, his own glass dagger to his throat.  
"What are you doing in my house?" Miri's voice was in monotone, as if she wasn't even surprised that he was there. Brynjolf looked at the small Breton who had him pinned against the wall, she wasn't wearing her mask or cloak and her hair hung freely, some strands falling in front of her face. He put his hand on her hand that was holding the dagger and slowly lowered it.  
"Your house? Well it seems we have a rather awkward situation here, lass" he raised an eyebrow as she dropped his dagger, and he noticed that she had a new scar just below her eye.  
"Maven cleared my name in the Rift so I decided I might as well settle down here as I'm not being hunted." Her state turned almost deadly, Brynjold didn't know how to interpret the fact that she was still standing extremely close to him, he could feel her warm breath. As if sensing his uncertainty, she turned away from him and walked to the barrel in the corner of the basement and picked up a bottle of mead.  
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't fuck any more women in my bed, I won't bother changing the locks as I know they're no use against you, but please have the decency to at least knock. Oh, and thanks for the mead." And with that she walked up the stairs and a few moments later Brynjolf heard the front door swing shut. He just stood there too stunned to move. He wanted to kick himself, knowing that this was her form of revenge 

Mirileth stepped out into the cold morning air of Riften, and swung her cloak on as she walked down the wooden platform. She noticed that her heart was beating rapidly in her chest and despised the reason why. He had wronged her in so many ways, exploited her for the gain of the Guild, sent her to Goldenglow where she was nearly killed, and now was forcing her to go hunting for some woman named Karliah alone with Mercer when he knew that she and Mercer did not get along. Not that she actually got along with many people but that was besides the point, he was constantly throwing her in the deep end. And now he was sleeping with women in her bed, and she tried desperately not to picture him lying bare in bed with Svana, who she had seen storming out of Honeyside earlier that morning.  
Miri walked into The Bee and Barb and went upstairs to sit where she and Maven usually did their dealings. She needed to clear her head, but as she tried to thoughts of Brynjolf seeped into her mind, and it took a lot of effort for her not to fling the bottle of mead in her hand at the wall. She set the bottle down on the table and made her way out of the tavern, she decided that maybe a manhunt with Mercer would do her some good and take her mind off that auburn haired bastard.


	6. Heightened Feelings

A month had passed since Mirileth and Mercer departed for Snow Veil Sanctum. The guild members had grown anxious without their leader. Brynjolf had gone out searching for them but had returned two weeks later with no news. Him, Delvin, Vex and Tonilia had held a meeting to decide a course of action that had lasted for hours. Tonilia and Delvin were adamant that Brynjolf should take charge of the guild while Vex and Bryn both argued that they should go to Snow Veil Santum to find out what had happened. They all agreed to disagree and said that they'd sleep on it and meet again in the morning. 

Delvin sat at his usual table at the flagon going over shipments and eyeing up Vex. He was just about to talk to Vekel about a certain shipment when someone entered the flagon and caught his eye. She was small, a bit taller than Miri had been and was wearing what looked like thieves guild armour. Her hair and most of her face was covered by a hood but he saw that she was a dark elf. His heart dropped and he looked to Vex who was already making her way to the cistern to warn Brynjolf that Karliah was back. But before he followed Vex, a second woman appeared next to Karliah and Delvin felt his jaw drop. Mirileth was there, standing right next to her. She hadn't even bothered to wear a hood or mask to conceal her identity and she stood there looking straight at him.  
Delvin rushed into the cistern to warn the others, he didn't know what the hell was going on, but it was going to be big.

Brynjolf, Delvin and Vex all stood at the entrance of the cistern, weapons in hand. Delvin had neglected to mention that Miri was with Karliah, in truth he wanted to see Brynjolf's reaction when they walked in.  
The door to the cistern opened and Karliah stepped in, she hand' any weapons in hand except for a journal that she was holding. Mirileth followed closely behind.  
The gasps that were heard in the flagon when Miri stepped out from the shadows amused Delvin greatly. He heard Brynjolf inhale sharply and there was a long pause before he spoke.  
"You better have a damn good reason for coming here with that murderer." The anger in his voice was clear, and so was his confusion.  
Mirileth stood there staring at him blankly, and it was Karliah who spoke. "You have all been deceived." Karliah went on to reveal that Mercer had been stealing from the guild and had murdered Gallus, the previous Guild Master. She handed Gallus's journal to Brynjolf, who flicked through the pages which had been translated from some strange language that he could not identify. Brynjolf was at a loss for words for once in his life, he'd let himself be conned at the expense of the guild.

 

Later on, after Brynjolf and Delvin had opened the vault to find all of the Guild's treasury emptied, Mirileth found herself in the training room. She was stroking a familiar whilst staring blankly at the wall. She felt tired and drained of any sort of emotion. She had spent over an hour explaining to the guild what had happened during her absence.  
To start off with, they had found Karliah. Then Mercer had tried to kill her. Karliah had healed her and in return Mirileth had helped her to find proof of Mercer's corruption. Not to mention that she had to travel to Markarth to translate Gallus's journal and had ended up in Cidna mine with the Forsworn. Over all it hadn't been the best month for her, she thought darkly. Mirileth lifted her tunic slightly and traced her hand over the wound that Mercer's blade had left. It had scarred, she hated the way it looked on her upper stomach. 

"Mercer did that to you." Mirileth looked up to see Brynjolf leaning against the wall, looking at her wound. Miri suddenly felt self-conscious and quickly covered it with her tunic.  
"Mirileth, I'm so sorry." He hardly ever called her by her name, and it sent a shiver down her spine. His voice was almost a whisper, as if he was embarrassed that he was apologising to her, and that angered her.  
"It's done now. I trust you and your lady friends have kept my bed warm for me?" The sarcasm in her voice was accompanied by a sinister stare that made Brynjolf shift on his feet. He didn't need this right now.  
"Lass, don't do this now. We have more important things to deal with." He walked towards her and folded his arms. He looked strained, he probably hadn't slept in a while.  
"Forgive me, I'm worn out from all this. To what do I owe your presence?" She still seemed as distant as ever, her voice felt cold to Brynjolf who had at least expected her to be somewhat pleased to be back.  
"I need you to infiltrate Mercer's hou-" Miri suddenly got up and dismissed her familiar.  
"Of course you do." She was now only inches away from him and she had lowered her voice.  
"Mirileth don't." He lowered his voice to match hers, and Mirileth swore that his accent thickened.  
"Don't what? I almost died for you Brynjolf. And you have the nerve to ask more of me." She felt her own words come out without emotion, she didn't feel much anymore.  
Brynjolf lowered his gaze. Not knowing how to respond.  
"I know that the only reason that you took me in was because I'm an asset to this guild, but I was hoping that somehow now I'd be something more than that." She felt her voice crack and for the first time since the Palace, she was feeling some sort of emotion again. Brynjolf did not lift his gaze, and Miri turned to leave.

"I searched for you." His voice made Mirileth stop and turn to face him.  
Brynjolf finally raised his gaze to meet hers, there was a seriousness in his light green eyes. They were lighter than hers, she'd never noticed before. She felt frozen as he walked towards her.  
"I didn't take you in just because of you status, lass. I was instructed to shadow you, and when I saw the way Ulfric was treating you I knew that nothing good would come of it." He lifted his hand and tucked a strand of silver hair behind her ear.  
"It was you, you were there when he..." Her voice trailed off, not wanting to remember the way Ulfric had looked at her that day.  
Brynjolf's hand drifted from the back of her ear to her cheek, and he found his gaze dropping to her lips, he thought of the nights where he laid awake trying to push thoughts of her out of his mind. Miri saw his gaze lower and it only took her a moment to figure out why. She shifted onto the tips of her toes and brushed her lips against his.  
It was soft and took him by surprise. Brynjolf's delayed reaction made Miri pull back, realising what she'd just done. But Brynjolf wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, his other hand winding through her hair as he kissed her. The kiss was desperate, as if they were both trying to make one kiss make up for all the tension and heated conversations between them. He deepened the kiss, their tongues explored each other and Miri felt Brynjolf's hand roam down to her behind which made her press up against him. She felt him smile as they kissed and it caused an unfamiliar sensation in her chest, she could feel her heart beating quite rapidly as her hands glided over his back. 

He pushed her up against the wall of the training room, using one arm to lean against it while the other moved to her waist. Their lips never disengaged, Brynjolf became aware that Miri could feel his growing excitement against her leg and decided that now was the time to pull back. He didn't want to scare her off, and the training room was definitely not the right place for this. His face was still only inches away from hers, and he saw a glint of confusion in her eyes.  
"Go to Mercer's house, find his plans. Be careful lass, this is the last place in Skyrim that I want to send you." He was slightly breathless, and Miri raised an eyebrow.  
"So, how do I get in?" Brynjolf was slightly taken aback by her being so cooperative.  
They spent the next hour planning her entrance to the manor, and Mirileth filled him in on everything that had happened with Karliah. As if they hadn't just shared a prolonged kiss against the wall. Brynjolf chuckled to himself after she left, thinking that if this was the result, he should probably kiss her more often. Then he wanted to bang his head against the wall when he thought of how it was exceedingly unprofessional to have such relations with his fellow thieves, but then again it was nothing he hadn't done before. And Mirileth was no thief, she could pickpocket, lie and con her way into just about anywhere. But she was different to the rest of them, she had a purpose. Perhaps that was what drew him to her.

Once Miri had climbed up the ladder that led into the tomb entrance of the thieves guild, she found herself gasping for breath and her fingers tracing over where their lips had touched. She shook her head, wanting to kick herself for allowing her to have feelings for him. She angrily pulled the chain that opened the tomb, and stepped out into the mid afternoon air. 

 

Erik gazed out across the vast beauty of the Reach at the training yard of Sky Haven Temple. The sun was descending behind the distant mountains, and for a moment it was so easy to forget the turmoil and destruction caused by Alduin and the civil war.  
He looked over to the other side of the yard and saw Marcurio and Uthgerd having a heated discussion by the training dummies.  
Erik walked over to them to see what the fuss was about. 

"You heard Delphine! If the Dragonborn isn't back by the start of Mid Year, we'll go to the Greybeards ourselves to find the Elder Scroll!" Marcurio's arrogant raised voice filled Erik's ears, not something that he could say he enjoyed.  
"Without the Dragonborn the Elder Scroll is useless! I say we stop wasting our time killing dragons that are just going to be brought back to life and go and find her." Uthgerd was sounding much more composed than her comrade but Erik still felt the need to step in. He was the youngest and least experienced out of the three, but he was the one who was closest to Mirileth.  
"Mirileth is out trying to earn a living after she started being hunted for a crime she did not commit. You can't blame her for being late." Erik predicted their reactions. Marcurio leapt up and adopted a condescending manner, while Uthgerd merely crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.  
"And what, you would just have us wait around for her to decide that she's made enough coin with those sewer rats and it's time to save the world?" Erik hated how Marcurio treated him like a child when he was barely past his own adolescent years. Erik had been thinking about how they could bring Miri back on the right track, but the others weren't going to like it.  
"Well, what if we proved her innocent? Think about it, she wouldn't be with the thieves if she didn't have to be in hiding, if we found this necromancer then Mirileth would be free to defeat Alduin." There was uncertainty in his voice, but the others had to admit that it made sense, even Marcurio shut up and started listening.  
"And how do you propose that we do that?" Uthgerd said as she got up from the rock she had perched on.  
"Delphine and Esbern would never agree to this, so perhaps if one of us took leave for some, erm family affair, they could track down the necromancer." This was when it became clear that Erik really hadn't thought this whole thing through.  
"Delphine would never grant us leave in the first place, and even if she did, how the blazes would only one of us stand against a necromancer?" Uthgerd was always the voice of reason in their small group.  
"We'll have to persuade Delphine somehow... Or we could just leave a note." Marcurio said, making the others groan.  
"Don't be fools, listen. If we just left, Delphine and Esbern wouldn't be able to stop us. We could hurry to Cyrodiil and enquire about this Mage there. Delphine can't fire us from the order as she doesn't have the time to find new recruits with the Dragonborn gone. Maybe we could kill a few dragons on the way, just to keep the two old bats in there happy." Marcurio did have a point, and the three Blades recruits stood for a moment in silence, thinking over his proposed course of action.  
It was Uthgerd who broke the silence. "It isn't about whether Delphine discharges us or not, this is bigger than us. If we don't bring the Dragonborn back on the right track we will lose the world as we know it." Erik and Marcurio knew that she was right. Something had to be done, and if that meant hunting down some lunatic necromancer who could be anywhere in Tamriel, then so be it.  
The three comrades set about planning their departure for Cyrodiil, and how they were going to escape the temple unnoticed. It was going to be a long journey that they would have ahead of them.


	7. The Glass Sword

The Black-Briar household was quiet that evening. Maven had instructed her family members to be clear from the house for the day as she had important business matters to attend to. Or rather business matters that had been neglected by others.   
Brynjolf's reports on the Dragonborn had revealed what Maven had feared. Mirileth was growing stronger each year and was also gaining favour with the Jarls, but of course Brynjolf had seen to it that that did not remain so. However, the dragon spawn had proven to be just as capable of interference when having to lurk in the shadows as she was when she was teamed up with   
Ulfric.

Of course Maven was aware of the destiny in which was predicted for the young Dragonborn, but she did not believe in such nonsense. She knew that the dragons had returned, but the whole soul absorbing nonsense was nothing but a myth. Anyone with common sense and decent combat skill could take down a dragon, and when the time came it would be she that would defend Riften, not some child from the forest lands.   
Maven descended the ageing oak stairs to the basement and traced her hand upon the damp stone wall. She unlocked one of the old wooden doors that led into a small compact room and closed the door behind her. 

On the floor lay a skeleton, and next to it a pile of rotting human flesh which she had Maul acquire the other day, on the ground next to the skeleton lay an ancient book with a dagger resting on its front. The gruesome sight did not affect Maven in the slightest. She merely pulled out a note from her pocket and rested it on the floor next to the book and knelt down. She thought of Christophe Bartlet, the last person she had to summon the Dark Brotherhood to deal with. No one crosses the Black-Briars. No one.  
"Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me" she pulled out the nightshade from her other pocket and picked up the dagger.  
"For the sins of the unworthy" Maven plunged the dagger into the human flesh, again and again.  
"Must be baptised in blood and fear." 

 

Mirileth had spent the better part of the day figuring out how she was going to distract Mercer's watchdog, Vald. Brynjolf had informed her that Vald and Vex were once lovers, and when Miri met Vald she was left with a seriously bad impression on Vex's choice of men. Not that Miri could say much about her own vaguely romantic endeavours.   
Vald had proven to be exceedingly uncooperative, therefore Mirileth found herself luring him out of Riftweald Manor's backyard and into the blade of a guard. She would of done it herself, but she knew that she would of only invoked one of Brynjolf's lengthy lectures that she did not feel like experiencing. Mirileth thought about how it was getting easier and easier for her to kill. She didn't even have to think twice most of the time, it was like a hunger that slowly built up inside her if she let it brew for too long. 

Once inside the backyard, Mirileth pulled out her bow, it took one ebony arrow to hit the mechanism and the ramp lowered itself onto the platform. Miri hesitated for a second, wondering if anyone heard the commotion, but decided to press on anyway.   
Sneaking though the house was easy, she took out Mercer's mercenaries as she went along, not wanting them to be able to report to him when the plans went missing. She reached the basement of the manor within the hour, and was not thrilled by what she found.

The entire basement was rigged with traps that were almost impossible not to trigger. The first room had a pressure plate floor that when Miri ran through, triggered a cloud of darts to come flying at her, which she somehow managed to dodge. The hallway was rigged with various sharp implements that swung down from the walls and nearly took half of Miri's hair off, so when she finally reached Mercer's office, she was completely out of breath. The plans were the first thing she saw upon Mercer's fine crafted wooden desk. Mirileth took a quick glance at the plans and became engrossed in the sketches of a large statue, her eyes scanned the paper and read that this statue was apparently the last accurate visual representation of a Snow Elf. The Falmer, she thought. 

Mirileth was about to take her leave, when she saw a large display case next to his desk. Curiosity bested her, and she looked over the glass case to see a large glass sword lying on a bed of red velvet cushion. This sword was unlike the other glass swords she had come across, it seemed to be radiating ice and there was a faint icy glow around it. Consumed by a sudden greed, Miri lockpicked the case and lifted the sword from it's bed. She read the inscription on the handle, Chillrend. Satisfied with her new weapon, Miri now made her way to the door that led into the Ratway, only to feel a sudden sharp pain in her neck. Her hand raced up to trace the wound, only to find that a poison dart had hit her. A sickly green tint started to overcome her vision and she felt herself gripping the wall as she began to stumble. She dragged herself through the door and cried out when she dropped down from the hatch into the Ratway. She felt a touch of relief when she reached the door to the Flagon. The door opened slowly, creaking as loudly as possible and she felt people's heads turn to face her. But her vision had become so blurred and tinted that she couldn't determine who it was. That's when she felt her head hit the cold stone floor.

 

 

Sky Haven Temple was especially quiet that cold morning of First Seed. The only sounds that could be heard from within the stony temple that was placed high within the mountains of the Reach was the crackling of the fire in the sleeping quarter and the scratching of quill upon paper. 

Esbern had been up for hours perfecting his recipe for a potion that could be used on weapons when battling dragons. It had taken him months to assemble all of the ingredients and it would give the recruits that extra boost in battle that they needed. Esbern got up from the desk that lay next to the engraved stone of Alduin's wall. He picked up some logs from next to the desk and placed them into the unlit fireplace. 

A thought suddenly occurred to him that it was odd that the fire was not lit, as it was usually Marcurio's job to light it each dawn. That was when Esbern heard the clambering sound of footsteps running down the steps that led to the sleeping quarters.   
"Esbern! They've gone!" Delphine shouted as she ran towards him, a note in her hands. Delphine had obviously just woken up, she was dressed in only a tunic and cotton trousers, her light blonde hair wasn't even tied back and was bouncing around her face as she came to a halt in front of him. 

"They left a note, the idiots are going after some necromancer in the south of Tamriel!" Delphine shoved the note at Esbern and put her face in her hands.  
"You mean Mirileth's necromancer? They won't stand a chance!" Esbern was now pacing back and forth, not bothering to even read the note. He knew what it would say.  
"What are we going to do? We can't just let them disobey us like this and then get themselves killed." Delphine said as she moved towards the large dining table situated in the middle of the temple, she sat herself down on one of the chairs surrounding it. 

"Delphine, I know that making a move against an unknown Mage of such power was reckless, but on the long run I can see this being the right move." Esbern said, causing Delphine to raise her head, a look of confusion falling over her ageing features.   
"So we should just let them go? And what are we meant to do without our soldiers? Just sit here and wait for the Dragonborn to remember that she has a world to save?" Delphine exclaimed, and Esbern remembered that Delphine was awful at looking at the bright side when things didn't go her way. 

"Her name is Mirileth, Delphine you seem to forget that she too, is only one person. We can let our recruits hunt down what plagues her, then she will be free to pursue her destiny once more. Meanwhile we can use the time to locate the Elder Scroll." He sounded determined, he shot a firebolt into the fireplace and proceeded to chuck the note in. 

 

Rune and Vipir had been left in charge of transporting a very unconscious Mirileth from the Guild to her home, Honeyside. Brynjolf, being the business man that he was, had taken the plans off Miri and said that he would check up on her later, which had made Rune angry. They didn't know what poison it was, what if it was serious? Would Brynjolf really just leave her in the inexperienced care of him and Vipir while he plotted revenge? It didn't really matter now, Vipir had found some healing potions in her basement alchemy station and was now trying to get her to drink them. 

But she wasn't waking up. They had been there over three hours and she hadn't opened her eyes once. Rune was about to run to the temple of Mara to find Maramal when Brynjolf burst through the door. 

"I'm going to need a lot of healing potions, Rune be a good lad and fetch me some cold water and a rag." Brynjolf said as he took off his leather cuirass and rolled up the sleeves of the tunic he wore underneath. Rune just stood there for a moment, a little shocked, before Brynjolf shot him a deathly glare which seemed to mobilise him again.   
"Vipir, go back to the Guild, we need more lookouts." Brynjolf said, while tying his long auburn hair into a loose ponytail. Vipir nodded and rushed out of the house. 

Brynjolf grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to Miri's bedside. He sat down and placed his hand on her forehead, she was burning up.   
Rune entered with a bucket of water and a cloth draped over his shoulder. Brynjolf rushed over to him and took the bucket and the cloth before dismissing him. He went back to Mirileth and dabbed her forehead with the now damp rag. The others had removed the dart, but the poison had made it into her system. Seeing as it was only one dart that had hit her, it was unlikely that this would be fatal. Or at least that's what Brynjolf was hoping. He willed himself not to feel guilty for sending her into Riftweald Manor, it had to be done and she was the best infiltrator they had. 

Mirileth's eyelids fluttered and she started clawing at her cuirass. Brynjolf immediately jumped up, trying to figure out what was wrong. Strands of her hair were clinging to her sweat drenched face, and Brynjolf realised that she was boiling.   
He reached over to her and struggled with the clasps and buttons of her cuirass, once he managed to free her of the leather piece of armor, he noticed that she was still gasping for air and thrashing her head from side to side. Unsure of what to do, Bryn started pacing in front of the bed, trying desperately to think of something. When he felt a breeze brush against him, he turned to face the door that lead out to Lake Honrich, that was it. He stuffed two healing potions into his trouser pockets and picked Miri up, bridal style. He kicked the door open with his leg and slowly carried her out into the night. 

She felt as light as she had when he had picked her up in Bruma, all that time ago. He walked out into the shallow waters of the lake and looked into the distance at Goldenglow Estate, the first serious mission he'd sent her on. Miri had nearly died when a mercenary had thrown her off one of the platforms. He looked down at her now, her breathing was relatively even now, and she looked up at him through heavy lids. 

"Bryn..." Her voice was shaky and quiet, Brynjolf had never heard her call him by his shortened name before, and he tightened his grip around her.   
"You don't have to say anything, lass" he said as he stepped deeper into the lakes water. He could hear the distant sounds of the docks, he looked up to see torchbugs gathering on the lake shores, Brynjolf never got to see the beauty of the Rift as often as he would like with his work confining him to the Ratway.   
"I-I was going to say... Your hair, it looks... Nice like that." Her voice made him look down at her again, to find her smiling weakly at him. 

He chuckled loudly and brushed his lips against her forehead softly. It felt like hours that passed while he held her out there, while the cool air soothed her temperature. 

 

The three unlikely friends now found themselves trekking through the hot springs of Eastmarch. They had encountered a large green scaled dragon that had nested in the area, it only took them a couple of hours to kill the beast. They had made camp by the hot springs and were gathered around the fire. For the first time, they all got along and laughed with each other. The mead made them forget their troubles and the journey ahead, and for once in their lives, Skyrim was a merry place. 

Later on in the night, while Uthgerd and Marcurio slept on bedrolls beneath the glistening stars, Erik decided to take a stroll through the springs and the scattered pines. He'd never been this far from home before. Even Sky Haven Temple wasn't too far from Rorikstead, the dragon lairs they had travelled to had always been to the west of Skyrim, this was the furthest East he'd been. When he thought of how much further the trio would be travelling, his chest tightened. He was scared, he wasn't going to deny it, but he felt as if he finally had some kind of purpose. They finally had a part to play in Tamriel's salvation.


	8. A Lovers Embrace

When Miri finally awoke from her delirious slumber, she bolted upright when she saw the light seeping in through the window. Her confusion deepened substantially when she looked at the figure who was lying on the bed next to her.  
Brynjolf seemed to have passed out in Miri's bed while looking after her the night before, not that Mirileth could remember much of it She remembered strong arms being wrapped around her, and the feel of cool water against her skin. His green eyes looking down at her, strands of his red hair tickling her face. She also remembered her comment on his hair, that she now deeply regretted. 

Mirileth gazed around the room, trying to assess her condition, and in the process realising that she had been relieved of her cuirass, leaving her in a very sheer white tunic.   
She quickly covered her chest with the bed fur when she saw Brynjolf had opened his eyes and was looking up at her. He had one arm behind his head, and the other was resting upon his chest. Miri's cheeks turned a deep pink that made Brynjolf chuckle. Mirileth scoffed at his reaction and threw a pillow at his face. 

Brynjolf caught it just before it hit him, and shot her an offended look. She still looked pale, but she looked stunning in the morning light. Brynjolf propped himself upon his elbows, squinting at the sunlight. Miri lowered her gaze, embarrassed that he had seen her so exposed. 

"Lass, we need to talk. About the incident in the training area." Brynjolf tried to meet her gaze, but she was fiddling with the furs she held in her hands. It was in moments like these that he remembered how youthful she was. It had been her eighteenth birthday only a couple of months ago. 

"I know what you're going to say." Came her reply, she still evaded eye contact with him. Brynjolf felt his eyebrows furrow at her response, how could she possible know what he was intending?

"Enlighten me then." He said as he sat up on the bed. He noticed that his hair was still tied and swiftly reached up and let his shoulder length auburn hair fall loose. He saw that she was now looking at him, and had stopped fidgeting with the furs.  
"You're going to say that it was a mistake and unprofessional, and it cannot happen again." Her voice was so quiet, he almost had to strain to hear her. 

"And what is your verdict of our little... Encounter?" There was a suggestive tone to his question, and he moved towards her on the bed. His actions confused Mirileth who had convinced herself that yesterday's kiss had just been his way of convincing her to break into Riftweald. She felt a heat rise from her stomach to her chest as his gaze drifted from her lips to her collarbone.

"Lass, I don't think that you quite realise the effect that you have on me." His hand traced her skin from her collarbone, all the way down her arm. Her breathing grew shallow from the contact and it made him smirk. He knew exactly the effect he had on her. His hand suddenly grabbed the back of her hair and pulled her head back. He leaned over her, their faces inches apart. 

"I want you, Mirileth." His voice was hoarse and laced with lust. It made Miri inhale sharply before she moved her hand to the back of his neck. 

"What are you waiting for?" Her breathless reply was what he had been hoping for and he savagely devoured her lips while his free hand cupped one of her breasts through the thin fabric of her tunic. Their lips disengaged so that they could proceed to tear and pull at each other's clothing. Before long they were both bare and embracing each other passionately, Brynjolf's hands exploring her body while their lips and tongues crashed together and fought. Mirileth's previous shyness of her body had been replaced by a desire to feel his bare skin upon her own. Bryn seized Miri by the shoulders and pushed her onto her back before leaning back to appreciate the naked beauty of her body. It was then that Mirileth glimpsed his manhood and a glint of fear crossed her large emerald eyes. Brynjolf saw it and realised that she was indeed a maiden, not that he hadn't assumed so before. He leaned forward and braced himself on one elbow, not wanting to crush her with his full weight. His free hand caressed her cheek and traced over her full pink lips. 

"Do you want this?" She could tell from his voice that he was restraining himself, the desire was burning inside him. Mirileth looked into his green eyes and nodded slowly, biting her bottom lip. Her beauty was driving him mad with lust, but he had to be sure that she felt the same way. He leant into her neck and bit her softly, before whispering into her ear. 

"Say it." His breath against his ear caused her to arch her back into him, and he smiled.   
" I-I, need you." Her choice of words made Brynjolf pull back for a moment, and he gazed into her eyes.

Mirileth wanted to laugh at how this man had succeeded in turning the Dragonborn into a frightened maiden beneath him, but as she looked into his eyes and her gaze trailed down to his thin lips, there was no doubt In her mind that this was no ordinary man. The moment was suddenly over and this time it was Mirileth who raked her hands through his hair and pulled him to her. He placed a line of tender kisses down her collarbone and her breast which made her whimper as she clutched his fiery red hair. He continued to tease her until he felt it was safe to proceed, he needed to make sure that she was relaxed, otherwise the next stage that he was so longing for would be rather difficult for the both of them. He pushed her legs apart with one of his own, and positioned himself between them. He was breathing heavily now, the restraint evident on his face. Miri knew that there was going to be pain, but she also was aware that she had felt worse, and the feel of Brynjolf's lips upon her bare skin had soothed her. He entered her slowly, waiting for her to adjust to the foreign sensation. He was leant over her body and when he saw her wince in pain he covered her mouth in small desperate kisses as he rocked into her. 

The pain Miri felt was soon replaced with a kind of pleasure she had never experienced before. It was not long until Brynjolf provided her with the release she never knew that she craved. He followed in her ecstasy soon after.

They remained in bed, holding each other until the afternoon sun began its decent behind the mountains. Brynjolf looked at the silver haired woman who he held in his muscled arms. Her legs were wrapped around his and her hands traced circles upon his chest. It had been a while since he had felt this content. However he was becoming painfully aware that in the long run, this could only end in pain. His family was the guild, and her destiny was to save the entire continent from certain death. He ran his hand through the long waves of her hair, not wanting to let her go.   
Miri glanced up at Brynjolf, and found him lost in thought. She didn't need to ask him what he was thinking, it was like an unspoken truth between them. 

 

The Palace of The Kings was cold and empty as Ulfric walked through the halls on his way to the throne room. The war seemed to have come to a halt with the dragons attacking from every direction. It appeared that the Reach was the safest hold and yet Ulfric could not get his hands on it. The dragons were becoming an even larger menace now that the Dragonborn had gone into hiding. He wanted to slam his fist against the stone wall when he thought of her, he still could not quite believe that she was a necromancer of any sort. He wondered where she was now, if she was even still alive. She'd probably run to Riften's sewers with that rat who had attended the feast. Maven had the audacity to send a common thief in her place, an insult he was not so willing to forgive. The thought of Mirileth being reduced to a thief made his blood boil. She was destined for so much more than that. Not to mention that he needed her on his side if he was going to win the blazed war with the Imperials. A legendary Dragonborn would be someone all of Skyrim would follow, and would raise his soldiers morale, if only he could locate her. 

As he descended the stone stairs that led into e throne room, Galmar appeared at his side. Ulfric considered Galmar to not only be his housecarl, but also his closest friend.   
Galmar patted Ulfric on the shoulder as they walked together to the great hall.  
"Balgruuf won't give us a straight answer." Galmar announced, not much to Ulfric's surprise.   
"He's a true Nord, he'll come around." Ulfric replied, more to assure himself than Galmar. Ulfric and Balgruuf had been friends once, until their titles of very different holds had separated them.   
"Don't be so sure of that." Ulfric turned to his friend and shot him a warning look before Galmar continued. "We've intercepted couriers form Solitude. The Empire is putting a great deal of pressure on Whiterun." This made Ulfric uncomfortable, he needed Whiterun as it was the trading capital of the province. The jarl walked ahead of Galmar into the great hall and sat down on his throne. Galmar could sense the jarl's irritation in the air.

"And what would you have me do?" The thought of Balgruuf turning against him made Ulfric feel uneasy.  
"If he's not with us, he's against us." Was Galmar's simple answer. But Ulfric fully understood his meaning.   
"He knows that. They all know that." Ulfric's deep voice was the only thing that echoed through the stone palace. As he said those last words, he thought of what he would have to do if Mirileth was to take the Empire's side. 

 

Many months passed until Delphine and Esbern received word from their recruits regarding their pursuit of the necromancer. They were currently in Bruma, it had taken them a while to reach there as the dragon menace was growing stronger.   
Esbern had managed to locate the Elder Scroll, and it resided within Blackreach. The lost city some believed to be the tenth hold of Skyrim. Esbern knew that they would have to wait for Mirileth or at least for their recruits to return for them to actively pursue it. Blackreach was a far too dangerous place for an old Mage and a short tempered Breton. Esbern strolled through Sky Haven Temple, with the lexicon that would unlock Blackreach in his hands. He had gone through no shortage of trouble to obtain it, and felt relieved to finally be in possession of it. He walked up to the storage room and opened a set of drawers to place it in. It was there that he saw the documents, files with names on them. He place the lexicon on the surface and started searching through the files. Ulfric Stormcloak was the first one, he flicked through it and suddenly realised why Mirileth had kept this a secret. But why would she be protecting a man she only ever spoke I'll of? He just couldn't make sense of it. The document with his own name on had nothing surprising written in it, all things that he knew already. But he would have to inform Delphine about the one regarding the Jarl Of Windhelm.

That was when a loud crashing sound came from the main hall and Esbern came rushing out of the storage room to see what Delphine had done this time. 

Only it wasn't Delphine.   
Walking towards him, was Mirileth in her leather armor, completely drenched in dirt and blood. 

 

The recruits stared in awe at the magnificent temple that lay before them, high up in the mountains of Cyrodiil. Sky Ruler Temple. Erik had never seen anything like it, neither had Uthgerd or Marcurio. The place was long abandoned, with vines growing up every wall, and cobwebs infesting every surface.

"This, this courtyard was where the great Hero of Kvatch once stood." Marcurio exclaimed, holding up his torch to examine the courtyard more intently.   
"Who was the Hero of Kvatch?" Erik enquired, oblivious to Cyrodilic history having grown up on a Nordic farm.   
"How can you not know of the hero who helped save all of Tamriel from the daedric prince Mehrunes Dagon? Are you that uneducated?" Marcurio scoffed, which earned him a death stare from Uthgerd and a shrug from Erik, who had learnt not to take anything the arrogant Imperial said to heart. 

"I think that the whole thing is tragic." Uthgerd said, sounding distant as she looked out over the mountains of Cyrodiil.   
"Why is that?" Erik asked, The intimidating Nord woman rarely spoke at all.

"The Emperor Martin Septim, sacrificed himself so that Akatosh could defeat the daedric prince, and no one remembers who the Hero of Kvatch even was anymore." Uthgerd pitied the unsung hero. The wind whistled around them as they explored the long lost headquarters of their order. Erik had never been more fascinated in his life. And that night around the campfire, he fell asleep while Marcurio told him stories about the Hero of Kvatch and the Oblivion Crisis.


	9. Iszalirah

Mirileth had found herself at an impasse. She had to once more go into exile as the Stormcloaks had uncovered her in Riften.   
She had been exiting from the Thieves Guild's secret entrance when a large man who wore armor resembling the shape of a bear had hit her around the head with the hilt of his axe. 

 

When she came to her senses she was tied up in a cart with her mouth gagged. Any attempts to sit up were met with a pair of rough hands pushing her back down again. She had managed to crane her head to identify the owner of the hands and saw Ralof glaring down at her, a disapproving look on his face. 

"Just lay low Miri." Ralof sounded irritated, and she couldn't help but remember the last time the two of them were hauled up in a cart together, both destined for the chopping block. She let out a low grunt, to let him know that she wasn't happy with the situation. 

 

After a couple of hours which were spent in complete silence, the cart came to a stop.   
Mirileth felt Ralof lift her into his arms, and instantly cursed her small size. Her heart stopped when she saw the familiar Stormcloak colours in the large camp they had arrived at. Ralof set her down and cut the bindings on her feet so that he could lead her into a large tent with guards posted at the entrance. They had to be somewhere in Eastmarch, there were no more Stormcloak camps left in the Rift. 

Ralof pushed her through the entrance of the grand tent, and Miri shot him a deathly stare. When she turned her head and saw Ulfric leaning of the table in the centre of the tent, Miri again would of cursed if there was not a rag stuffed into her mouth.

Ulfric raised his head from the map he had been studying when he heard the commotion outside. He was not surprised to see Mirileth in his tent, Galmar had sent a messenger to inform him that her capture had been successful. He was curious as to see what kind of woman Mirileth had grown into since they had last met. He was in no way disappointed. 

The naive young girl who had escaped his palace was gone. In her place stood a young woman who stared at him with an ice cold gaze. She was not afraid of him as she had been those years ago, and that amused him greatly.   
"Dragonborn, what an honor it is for you to pay us a visit." Mirileth inhaled sharply as his deep voice filled the air around her. She wanted to retort, but all she could manage was a low grunt. Ulfric stone cold gaze shifted as a sinister smile appeared on his lips.

"Ralof, remove her bindings and the rag." He wanted to see her in all her glory, not bound like some common criminal. Ulfric saw Ralof hesitate for a split second, and understood why. She now had the power to kill them all if she wished, but he knew that she would not harm him or Ralof. It wasn't her style. 

Once her bindings were gone, Miri massaged her sore wrists and shot a hurt look to Ralof, who had once been her friend. He just nodded at her and exited the tent.  
"So, where have you been Dragonborn? Skyrim is falling into a state of despair in your absence." Ulfric was mocking her, and she walked towards him, her hands curling into fists.   
"Well, I could be saving the world right now, but I'm a wanted criminal, so that tends to get in the way." She rested her hand on the table beside his, and the closeness threw Ulfric off guard, just as she had intended. Ulfric glanced at her small scarred hands, before raising his gaze to meet hers. He didn't hide the hint of disgust that crossed his features when he noticed the thieves armour. 

"You're not here to be brought to justice. I believe your innocence Mirileth, but I am in need of your help." The use of her full name made her look soften just a bit. But her hands remained balled into fists.   
"You want me to join your cause. I'm afraid that going to war and hating elves is not on my agenda, my jarl." Now it was her turn to mock him. 

"I do not hate elves, I hate the Thalmor. As I know you do as well, seeing as you went to great lengths to infiltrate their embassy." He straightened his posture, and became dangerously close to Mirileth's much smaller figure.   
"Yes, that's true. Tell me Ulfric, how was your stay with our Thalmor friends?" There was venom in her voice. The jarl took a step back, he had clearly not expected this.

"I am not sure I follow you." But it was clear from his voice that he knew exactly what she was referring to.   
"Yes, you do. I have my sources Ulfric, it would be a shame if this Intel was to fall into the hands of General Tullius." Now she stepped towards him, a smile mirroring his previous one coming over her well defined features. 

"I see that you have found your leverage against me, Dragonborn. Very well, I will not fight you over this." His surrender surprised Mirileth, who had expected some sort of interrogation as to what her sources where.   
"That's it? I'm free to go?" The bewilderment in her voice made him smile.

"You will be allowed to leave in the morning." Mirileth could hardly believe her ears, she had expected far more trouble than this. She turned to exit the tent but Ulfric caught her arm, spinning her back round to face him.   
"Oh, and as a word of advice, you will make far more progress as Dragonborn if you spent less time in that sewer rat's bed." His accusation caused frustrated tears to form in her eyes. Without thinking, Mirileth spat in Ulfric's face and he let go of her arm and staggered backwards. How could he have known about her and Brynjolf?

"Who I lie with is not your business, Stormcloak." She wiped the tears from her eyes and stormed out of the tent. 

A couple of soldiers had her tied to one of the horse's posts in the blistering cold. Occasionally tears would fall onto her cheeks as she would drive herself into a state of self-pity. She looked up from the dirt when she heard the sound of boots making their way towards her. 

"I think it's safe to say that Ulfric is rather mad at you." Ralof's familiar voice was a relief to her ears. He knelt down in front of her, so that she would not have to look up at him.   
"That's rich, he's the one who had me kidnapped and dragged here." She lowered her gaze to the ground, letting her hair fall in front of her face.   
"He means well, Miri. I know that he can seem cold but he just wants to get Skyrim back." The respect he had for Ulfric was clear in his tone. "He doesn't mean you harm, he is just a bit complex, I suppose." Ralof put his hand under her chin and lifted her face so that her gaze met his. She gently shook her head, still not convinced by his words. 

"How did he know about me and Brynjolf?" Ralof could tell that she was accusing him, and she was right to.  
"Ulfric sent me, Galmar and a couple of new bloods to Riften a week ago to identify your location. When I went to Honeyside to see you, you were both in bed, together." Ralof wasn't proud about the fact that he had spied on his friend. But he was just following orders. As Hadvar had, he thought grimly. 

"You broke into my home?!" Her raised voice made several soldiers turn to look at them, but Ralof dismissed them with a wave of his hand.  
"Yes. I had to, I was following orders Miri." He said, trying to regain some of her trust.  
Mirileth lowered her gaze once more and shook her head.  
"Please, leave me be." It came out as almost a whisper, and Ralof saw that there were tears in her eyes. He let out a sigh of defeat and went back to report to Ulfric. 

 

Miri had left as soon as the sun had begun its ascent to the morning sky. Ulfric had not been there to see her leave, but Ralof had escorted her to the nearest road. They did not speak, and Miri could tell that he felt guilty over his betrayal. She could not find it in her heart to forgive his invasion of her privacy just yet. 

She knew that she would have to leave Riften as the thought of Ulfric knowing her exact location made her feel uneasy. But also the thought of leaving without a word to Brynjolf upset her even more. She had only been appointed new guild master the previous week, as she remembered their encounter with Mercer her hand traced to her stomach where his sword had cut her. The day after they returned Brynjolf had stayed with her all day, tending once again to her wounds. 

As guild master, Mirileth had completely renovated the entire cistern, so that it was now hard to tell that they were indeed in the sewers, she got along with all of the thieves, even Saphire. The factor that was bothering her was of a different nature. Ever since the ceremony which announced her as guild master, Brynjolf had been noticeably distant towards her, as if they had never been lovers. In the nights when he visited her, they would lie together and by dawn he would be gone. Something was wrong, but she did not have the time to interrogate him on the matter. That would have to wait until this whole ordeal was done with.  
She adjusted her pack on her back and tied her black mask around her face. She would have to return to the Blades. It was time to face her destiny.

 

"Dragonborn, gods above what happened to you?" Exclaimed Esbern as Miri soundlessly stalked towards him. She looked exhausted, dark circles haunted her eyes and her usually full pink lips were now pale and cracked.   
"I was attacked on the ride here. By an assassin carrying this note." She stretched out her hand which was holding a blood spattered note. Esbern collected it from her hand and his eyes darted over the hastily scribbled words upon it.   
It was bad, the Dark Brotherhood were after the Dragonborn. Esbern looked at Miri, who was panting lightly. She set her weapons on the table and turned to face him again.

"I shall rest here for tonight, then I'm off to Markarth in the morning to craft myself some... Less suspicious, armour." And with that she walked off towards the sleeping quarters. Esbern was left there holding the bloodied note, not knowing to be concerned that the Brotherhood were after her, or whether to be relieved that she was finally back. Either way, he set off to find Delphine to let her know the news. 

 

Markarth was beautiful city, but a desperately corrupt one. Mirileth remembered all too well her false imprisonment there. She had to break out of Cidna Mine with the Forsworn, 'accidentally' killing their leader Madanach in the process. She hoped that she would fare better on her second visit to the ancient city. 

 

She stayed only half a day, as she did not want to attract any Brotherhood assassins into the city. The new armour she had crafted was the most beautiful armour she had ever lay eyes on. It was made of a fortified blue glass and trimmed with solid gold. It was far less bulkier than the other glass armours she had seen and was shockingly light. When she wore it, she could barely believe that she was looking at herself in the polished metal slate at the Silver Blood Inn. It fitted perfectly, highlighting her every curve. Not to mention, Chillrend matched the armour. She did not wish to wear the helm, and instead let her silver waves fall freely. She was starting to look like the saviour she was meant to be. 

 

Maven sat at her usual spot at the Bee and Barb, and awaited the news she'd been expecting. The Brotherhood had not yet contacted her regarding the Dragonborn, so she had to rely on other sources, that struck closer to home. She was in a particularly good mood that evening, as she had just received word that the Empire was making good progress in the war, which meant that she was inevitably closer to finally becoming jarl of Riften.

"You requested my presence?" The strange northern accent that Maven had grown rather accustomed to inquired.   
Brynjolf was leaning against the wall opposite her. He had a way of sneaking up on people, which wasn't surprising, given his status. 

"Ah yes. You're late, I trust you have some form of news for me regarding your Guild Master?" Maven asked as she poured herself some more alto wine from the bottle on the table next to her. Brynjolf sat down on the chair in front of her, she noticed that he had started wearing a dark navy hood, she'd never seen him wear it before. She also noticed his hesitation before he spoke, his eyes did not meet hers.

"She was captured by a bunch of Rebels right in this city, I heard that she was released, but I don't know her current location." His voice sounded strained, as if he were forcing the words out of his mouth, and it made Maven roll her eyes.   
"The whole reason I instructed you to get close to her Brynjolf, was so that you would have consistent knowledge of her whereabouts." This whole situation was beginning to give her a headache. She sipped the wine in her cup, still eyeing Brynjolf who's gaze was at the floor. He just shrugged.

"I did as I was instructed, but she's an independent person, she does as she pleases." He knew that his answer would only irritate Maven, but he didn't have much else to say to the woman he was starting to brew an intense dislike for.   
"You know, when I said get close to her, I meant make her care for you. Not the other way round, I took you for a smarter man." At this point Maven was considering hiring the brotherhood to take care of him as well. But she knew that getting rid of Brynjolf would be foolish, taking him out of the picture would mean that her ties to the thieves guild and the Dragonborn would be almost completely severed. The problem was, that Brynjolf was aware of it as well. She dismissed him and went back to drinking away in her corner. 

 

The Imperial City was the most magnificent city either three of the Blades had set eyes on. From the finely chiseled stone to the beautiful gardens, it was truly a sight to behold. A member of the Warriors Guild back in Bruma had directed them to the Mages Guild in the capital city. They had told them that there was a Mage who tended to spend most of his time in the local taverns who would know the location of any well known necromancer. 

It didn't take them long to reach a tavern, and Uthgerd felt immensely relieved to finally be in reach of some good alcohol. As much as she was growing fond of her companions, their constant bickering was starting to drive her insane. Plus she was truly missing Skyrim and its people, dreaming of the brawls she had had at the Bannered Mare. 

The three recruits had ditched their heavy helms for black hoods along the journey, they had discovered the hard way that some citizens still recognised the armour of the Blades. As soon as they entered the tavern they lowered their hoods and claimed a table in a shadow filled corner of the establishment. However as they sat down, they realised that this was no ordinary establishment, much to Marcurio's joy and Uthgerd and Erik's discomfort, it seemed to also double up as a brothel. Skimpily clad women ran about the tavern, some draping themselves over men and other women as a team of bards filled the room with exotic music.   
Uthgerd lifted her hood up again and lowered her gaze to the table. Marcurio pulled Erik up onto his feet and dragged him towards the bar. 

 

Erik lost Marcurio in the sea of beautiful women, so he tried to make his way to the bar himself. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a Redguard beauty serving drinks behind the bar. She was unlike any woman he had ever lay eyes on before. He skin was dark and flawless, her hair fell in almost jet black curls just past her waist, but it was her eyes that made his legs nearly collapse beneath him. They were a crystal blue that was almost silver and he felt himself lose balance when they met his own. 

"How can I assist you?" Her voice was quite deep for a woman, quite like Uthgerd's but sweeter. And there was a suggestive tone to it.   
"A couple of erm, bottles of mead, please." Erik managed to stammer out. She smiled at his politeness and Erik couldn't help but let his gaze drop to her rather magnificent curves that were covered only by a sheer white silk shift. He was glad that she hadn't notice him gawking, as she was busy retrieving the mead from the cabinet behind her. 

A young Imperial man leapt behind the counter and grabbed the woman by the waist, nuzzling into her neck. The woman did not seem amused and swiftly kneed him in the groin, causing him to fall back. At that moment another Redguard woman, a tall bulky warrior of a woman, wearing steel armor and a curved sword at her side, grabbed the young man by the collar and dragged him out the back door. Erik stood there wide eyed as the young woman handed him the mead. She clicked her fingers to bring his attention back and he clumsily handed her some coins. 

"It's not often that we get Nords in here, they prefer to stick to less exotic establishments." She said, a tone of amusement in her voice.   
"I'm here on business, I was told that I could, ahem find a certain mage here?" Erik was honestly trying his best not to sound like a complete fool. The woman furrowed her eyebrows and then gestured to him to follow her. 

Erik glanced around nervously before going behind the bar and following the mysterious woman into one of the back rooms. When he walked into the room he shut the door behind him and saw that the woman had made herself comfortable on the bed. He had no idea what was going on. 

"I think you misunderstood, I'm looking for a member of the mage's guild, I was told that he would most definitely be here." Erik stammered, not quite knowing what to do with himself. The woman threw her head back as she laughed, her eyes glistening in the candle light. 

"Yes, and you have found him. Only, last time I checked, I was very much female." Her smile was intoxicating. "I am Iszalirah of Taneth, former member of the Cyrodiil Mage's Guild. At your service." She cocked her head as she looked Erik from head to toe, assessing the young man. He was only a few years younger than she. He made a move to speak but she raised her hand to stop him.

"I know why you are here, Blade. You wish to find the necromancer of the Bosmer, to clear the name of the mighty Dragonborn." As she said this, she started crawling towards him on the bed. Erik's jaw dropped, this was certainly more than he had bargained for. And how by the nine, did she know all this?

"Who told you this?" He stuttered a little and wanted to kick himself.   
"Perhaps my friend, next time you and your comrades should not be so vocal about your quest when you have a belly full of mead in the local taverns." She was now very close to him, her hands reached out and brushed his cloak away from his armour, her hands tracing over the Akaviri details. 

"I can help you, but for a price." She said and a hint of darkness flashed across her seductive smile.


	10. Distant Memories

The three blades now all sat on the edge of the bed in one of the many back rooms of the brothel. In front of them stood Iszalirah, and behind her was the large Redguard woman who had been identified as Lyri. Iszalirah was greatly amused by the bewildered expression on each of the Blades’s faces. The young woman moved towards the dresser and pulled out some garments that appeared to be leather armour. Then proceeded to undress in front of her guests.

“You were telling us who you were exactly?” Uthgerd urged, her eyes downcast.

“Yes, if you’ll just allow me to slip into some more appropriate clothing, I’ll tell you.”Was Iszalirah’s swift answer. She winked at Marcurio as she pulled on the worn out leather trousers. Marcurio straightened his back and elbowed Erik, who just shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

Iszalirah’s armour was very different from the variants of leather armour that Erik had seen in Skyrim, she wore a simple leather vest which he had seen some Redguards wear before, and underneath a loose ivory tunic. Her trousers were well worn, and she wore the boots of a mercenary, but the many pockets that lined her belt reminded him more of a thief.

“I have been expecting you three for a while. As your friend has most likely already informed you, I am Iszalirah of Taneth, former member of the Mage’s Guild and Guild Master of the Cyrodiil Thieves Guild.” She crossed her arms under her chest as she spoke. As soon as she said the dreaded words “Thieves Guild” the three comrades groaned almost in unison.

“Mirileth would love this.” Erik said under his breath, lowering his gaze from the beautiful young Redguard.

“Ah yes, I met your Dragonborn some time ago, she probably remembers me and my associates.” Iszalirah said with a sinister glance to Lyri, who responded by raising a thick dark eyebrow.

“How do you know the Dragonborn?” Marcurio asked, causing Iszalirah to turn to them again, she looked Marcurio in the eye and smirked.

“A few years ago, she passed through here. A pretty young thing, it was before the title of Dragonborn had been bestowed on her. You see, there was a fairly large bounty on her head, something about necromancy. She fell into our custody for a brief period of time, but managed to escape.” Iszalirah explained. Lyri chucked a pair of ebony daggers to Iszalirah, who fastened them to her belt.

“But if you knew who the necromancer was, why did you capture Mirileth?” Erik inquired, crossing his arms. There was something in the way the Redguard spoke that made Erik believe that there was more to this story than she was leading on.

“Because I did not know of this necromancer back then. This occurred about four years ago, I had just been kicked out of the Mage’s Guild and had started working as a thief. I did not trade in knowledge then and I had none of the sources I am privileged with today. To me, the girl was just a way to get some money and get on the good side of law for a while. But when she told me the story of this necromancer, which is when I went looking for him.” Iszalirah lowered her head as she spoke, as if conjuring some dark memories.

“You went looking for him?” Uthgerd probed, sounding slightly surprised. The woman standing before her did not really strike her as the adventuring type.

“Yes, I did not like the idea of a twisted man being capable of such atrocities, so Lyri and I travelled to Valenwood.” Iszalirah moved towards the chair next to the dresser and sat down, her legs slightly apart and her arms still crossed. It was as if the bar wench from earlier had completely disappeared. “We did not find him, but we did uncover that he is a vampire, trying resurrect some fallen hero of old.” There was a hint of amusement in her tone as she finished her sentence, and she lowered her sight to Marcurio’s armour.

“What fallen hero? This is sounding ridiculous!” Marcurio exclaimed, fed up with this entire ordeal, the only thing keeping him in that room was the presence of the magnificent young woman who sat opposite him.

“Believe me; it was even more ridiculous to hear it from a well-educated court mage. It is believed that this necromancer is trying to resurrect the Hero of Kvatch.” Iszalirah chuckled at the expressions of the three Blades members who sat before her.

“Now you’re just mocking us, thief.” Uthgerd spat out, getting up from the bed.

“I assure you that I have no reason to lie. This matter of necromancy has greatly grasped my interest. I too wish to find out whether the ramblings of that Bosmer court mage were in fact true.” Iszalirah said calmly, cocking her head at the tall Nord woman who was standing with her hand on the hilt of her sword.

“Then tell us where to find him.” Erik said getting up and removing Uthgerd’s hand from her sword.

“I can do more than that.” Iszalirah said as she got up from the wooden chair. She moverd towards Erik and became dangerously close to him as she rested her palms on his armour clad chest.

“I can show you the way.” The smirk on her plump lips made Erik inhale sharply, but he gently pushed her away.

“Oh no, you can’t come with us! How do we know that you won’t slit our throats in our sleep?!” Marcurio said and now it was his turn to jump up from the bed. Lyri saw this and took a menacing step forward.

“I’m afraid all you have is my word. But I need to find this Vampire as much as you do, let’s just say that he knows something that will bring me… closure.” Darkness fell over her eyes as she spoke, and everyone knew not to press the matter any further. The three comrades all looked at each other, and they knew that this strange woman was not going to give them much choice.

“Good. We leave at dawn.” And with that, Iszalirah strutted out of the room, Lyri following close behind her.

“What if we just left now? Without her?” Marcurio whispered, aware that she had probably assigned someone to keep an eye on them. “Come on, you know that if we do she’ll find us anyway, I’ve heard things about the Cyrodiil Thieves Guild. It will be in our interest not to cross them.” Erik reasoned, shooting sharp glances to Marcurio and Uthgerd, who both looked completely done with this situation.

“Well then, like she said we leave at dawn.” Uthgerd sighed.

 

 

 

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She had done it. Made it through Blackreach, the lost city. Now the Elder Scroll lay in front of Mirileth, in a crystal capsule, awaiting her touch. As Mirileth picked the ancient artefact up, she was surprised by the heaviness of it. It was one of the most magnificent things she had ever lay eyes on. It was in that moment, that she wished that Lydia was there with her. Miri missed her housecarl desperately, she felt as if Lydia was the only person left to trust, but Mirileth had left her behind. Miri strapped the Elder Scroll to her back and started to make her way back to the Blades headquarters. 

_The still forest of Valenwood was silent that day apart from the gentle whistling of the wind and the faint giggles of two young girls. The undergrowth twisted and snapped beneath their tiny bare feet as they ran through the forest._

_“Mirileth! Keep up!” Tysa shouted, her sweet voice echoing through the ancient trees. Tysa was a little younger than Mirileth had been, barely into her thirteenth year. The two sisters looked much alike, clearly Breton girls, with the slight point in their ears indicating their Bosmer blood. That day they had spent the morning braiding each other’s hair whilst reading through their father’s old spell books, then Tysa had abruptly bolted up and exclaimed that the day was far too fair to be spending it in their old hunter’s shack. Mirileth had for once agreed with her little sister and they had each grabbed their hunting bows and ran out into the trees._

_Their outing had quickly turned into a race and they were soon bolting through the green shades of the tall trees of the Bosmer province. Mirileth quickly caught up with her sister and tackled her to the ground. Tysa squealed as Mirileth tickled her sides, giggling as her sister kicked out. Their laughter was short lived, as the sound of distant chanting caught Mirileth’s ears, and she quickly covered her sister’s mouth with her hand. The smell of smoke filled the girls’ nostrils and they both started to crawl through the undergrowth towards the sound._

_The sight that met their eyes was horrific. There were the bodies of their village’s huntsmen positioned in a circle, and a small fire in the centre. There was a naked figure kneeling in front of the fire, there seemed to be words carved into his body, like scars. When he got up, he turned to face the two girls, a darkness shadowing his face. His hair was long and jet black. The girls both screamed and started running back through the forest, the branches tearing and cutting their skin._

_Tysa looked back and saw people chasing them. Only they weren’t people, the bodies of the huntsmen were running after the two girls, a faint purple glow surrounding them. The sisters knew that they weren’t going to make it. Mirileth suddenly felt a surge of courage course through her, and she lifted her bow from her back, and took an iron arrow from her quiver.  She leapt back and fired an arrow into the closest undead, and they fell to the mossy ground in a pile of ashes. A second arrow flew through the ear and pierced another undead’s eye. Miri looked to her sister who had also drawn her bow and was firing arrows at an immense speed._

_To their horror, a fire had started to rip through the woods, engulfing trees, homes and undead as it went along. Through the fire, Mirileth saw him, the King of the Dead, the Necromancer._

 

 The Dovahkiin awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and tears. She put her head in her hands as she rocked herself back and forth. _Tysa, oh Tysa, it should have been me._ Mirileth’s silent tears quickly escalated into sobs as the Dragonborn longed for her home, for the past. The sleeping quarters in Sky Haven Temple were empty apart from her, and the only light came from the crackling fire at the other end of the large room. Mirileth tried to focus on something else, anything else. Her thoughts drifted to the missing recruits. Esbern and Delphine had insisted that they were out on a mission slay the remaining dragon priests, but Mirileth had been with Brynjolf for the past year, and had picked up a thing or two on detecting lies. And Delphine presented all the tell-tale signs. Mirileth tried to dismiss any thoughts of her thief, but he always inevitably would creep back into her thoughts. She hadn’t heard from him, and she tried desperately to not let the indifference of one man rule her emotions.

Footsteps padding towards her brought Mirileth’s train of thought back to the present.  Delphine was cautiously walking toward Mirileth in her bed. Miri quickly dried her eyes and pulled the fur cover further up so that she was clutching it under her chest.

“Dragonborn, me and Esbern have been thinking. Perhaps, before you take the Elder Scroll to the Throat of The World, you should train some more, with the Companions.” Delphine kept her distance from the Dragonborn’s  bed, but still met her gaze. Mirileth was actually relieved to hear this, the thought of facing Alduin created an ugly pit in her stomach.

“I’ll leave today then, I received word from them that they’re struggling with the Silver Hand anyway.” Miri was surprised that she had managed to keep her voice so steady with all the crying she had done only minutes before. She dismissed Delphine and begun to dress.

 

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Lydia had been spending her days hunting in the tundra and her nights drinking away at the Bannered Mare. She felt empty and without purpose, her Thane had discarded her and now she lived a quiet and peaceful life, but that was not the life that she wanted. She had even stopped wearing the steel armour of a housecarl, and instead wore simple mercenary armour; it was lighter and more comfortable than the steel which would cut into her skin.  

She once again found herself stumbling back to Breezehome after a long night drinking and wrestling with Sinmir at the tavern. She fumbled with the lock and nearly fell in through the door. Lydia’s heart stopped when she saw that someone was waiting for her.

Ralof sat on one of the chairs facing the fire. He rushed over to Lydia when he saw that she was stumbling. Lydia grabbed hold of one of his toned arms to steady heself, her eyes wide with surprise.

“The Thane i-isn’t here.” Ralof chuckled at her slurred words and pulled her into a hug.

“I know, I was passing here on my way to the Reach, I wanted to check up on you.” He whispered into her hair, and Lydia buried her face in his neck.  She had missed his warmth, his embrace.

Ralof wanted to kiss her, to trace her defined jaw with his lips, to undress her. But she was heavily intoxicated and he knew that her mind was not clear. Instead, her lifted her into his arms and carried her up to her bed in her small room. He tucked her in and kissed her cheek softly, then lay out some furs he had found in one of the cupboards on the floor next to her bed. Sleep took him quickly, the strain of the war closing his heavy lids.

 

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The road to Solitude had been long and tiring for Syllus, he had learnt that a lot of Nords did not take well to Imperials like himself. He had been travelling from Cyrodiil with his wife, Rina to work as Belrand’s apprentice. They had just left Dragon Bridge, they had stayed there longer than he liked but his wife had insisted that she wanted to stay and sketch the magnificent bridge of the small village. Darkness was beginning to fall over the sky and it made Syllus clutch Rina’s hand just a little tighter. Syllus longed for the warmth of a bed and some wine in his belly.

The sound of movement in the bushes made the pair stop dead in their tracks. Rina waved her torch around, hoping the fire would frighten them away if it was a pack of wolves like they had encountered many times before.

But it wasn’t wolves.

A pair of hounds as black as coal with eyes that shone a blinding red leapt out from the side of the road. Syllus drew his sword and tried to fight them off. But they had gotten hold of Rina, she was screaming pain and by the time Syllus managed to hack them off of his wife, she lay lifeless and bloodied on the ground. The Imperial cried out as his wife’s blood stained the stones beneath her.

That was when there was another rustling of the bush and Syllus lifted his sword once more. It was no wolf or hound, but a woman. She wore an armour that he had never encountered before, it was black and did not look as if it possessed great strength. Syllus’s courage faltered when he saw her eyes through the strands of dark hair that blew in front of her face in the wind. They were shades of gold and red, and they seemed to glow in the twilight of the evening.

She raised a hand and Syllus suddenly became aware that something was draining him, his life force. He tried to charge at the woman with his steel sword, but he felt his strength leaving him. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground. His wife’s name was on his lips as he drew his final breath.  

 


	11. Shattered Hearts

Jorrvaskr was just as Mirileth remembered it. Nothing had changed, and when she walked round the back like she always did, the majority of the legendary Companions were there. It was Aela who saw the Dragonborn first.

“Mirileth, you have finally returned! It is good to see you, Shield-Sister.” Aela said as she walked up to her friend. Aela had developed a strong bond with the young woman and she felt as if they had been apart for far too long.

“It is good to see you too Aela, how are things going around here?” Miri said as she glanced around the yard. She glimpsed Vilkas talking to Ria, they seemed to be standing rather close to each other. Mirileth smirked.

“We need you Shield Sister, the Silver Hand are becoming an excruciatingly large thorn in our sides. You best go find Skjor, he wanted to talk to you.” Aela patted Miri on the shoulder and walked off.  Mirileth walked up to the entrance of Jorrvaskr, catching Vilkas giving her a stern look, she shook her head at him and disappeared inside the mead hall.

Skjor was easy enough to find, he sat at the table, a tankard of mead in his hand. Mirileth approached him with caution as she did not know quite what to expect from him, having been gone so long. He sat up in the chair once he saw her approaching, but he did not smile.

“There you are.” He said, and Mirileth did not like the eerie look on his face. She rested her weapons on the table, pushing a few plates filled with food aside, and sat down next to him. Skjor noticed that there was something new to her posture; he couldn’t decide whether it was confidence or carelessness.

“We will speak later, meet me at the Underforge after dark.” He said, lowering his voice. Miri shot him a puzzled look, but nodded at his demand. Skjor then got up and made his way outside, leaving Mirileth wondering what his intentions were. She looked up from the table to see Aela looking at her from across the hall. _They’re up to something._

 

The dark horse rode into Whiterun’s stables, it’s cloaked rider slowing it to a trot as they approached the cover of the stables. Night had fallen upon the Whiterun hold, and Brynjolf was thankful for that. It meant that there were more shadows to blend into. He left his horse in the care of the stable hand and made his way into the city. There were few people about at the late hour that it was, only a few patrolling guards roamed the streets. Brynjolf took the long route to the Bannered Mare, weaving behind the buildings. He knew that she was there, up in that famed mead hall, and Brynjolf hated to admit that the thought of seeing her made him quicken his pace just a little. But he would have to wait until morning, he’d been travelling all day and needed some sleep to clear his mind. As he creeped up to the side of the tavern, he heard footsteps behind him and he spun around to see a Nord woman, a pretty young thing with auburn hair like his, and a curved figure. She was looking at him with an uncertainty, as if she was trying to place him somewhere in her thoughts. Brynjolf lowered his hood and flashed the lady one of his smiles that had managed to win countless maidens hearts. She blushed at his smile and took a step towards him, Brynjolf tilted his head and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“What is a lass like yourself doing out at this hour?” His green eyes were glinting in the light of one of the torches that hung from the side of the Bannered Mare. He heard her inhale sharply and he knew that perhaps the night would not be as dull as he had predicted.

“I’m a merchant, I went out to trade some of my goods with the passing khajiits.” The woman was well-spoken and there was a certain confidence about her that he liked. Brynjolf moved towards her so that he was dangerously close, but he did not make a move, he was experienced in this and knew when it was too soon.

“I’ve had many dealings with khajiits myself, how about I buy you a drink and you can tell me about it? I could do with the company.” Brynjolf smirked when she nodded, still seeming cautious of him. _Smart lass._

A horn sounded from the distance followed by screaming and Brynjolf immediately turned around to determine the cause of the disturbance. He saw guards running towards the main gate with their weapons drawn. Ysolda tugged at his arm.

“Look, we should go into the tavern, this doesn’t look good.” She spoke as if this happened regularly, and he was about to take her advice and retreat when a black hound leapt out from the shadows. Brynjolf managed to push it off and reach for one of his daggers in time, with one swift move the glass of his dagger pierced the hound’s skull and it’s limp body collapsed at his feet.

“What in Oblivion…” Brynjolf’s voice trailed off as he saw people charging at him and the woman that was now clutching his arm, terrified. She wasn’t armed and there were about five people with clad in strange armours that he had never seen before running at them. Brynjolf cursed under his breath, when he saw their gleaming red eyes he felt bile rise in his throat. _Fucking Vampires._ It was unusual for vampires to even venture into cities let alone attack them, either way there wasn't time to contemplate what exactly they thought they were doing.  Brynjolf quickly pushed Ysolda towards the door to the Inn, indicating that she should run inside, but she just stood there frozen, her eyes fixed on something behind the mob of vampires.

Brynjolf tried to fix his gaze on what had caught her attention, and a terrible fear rose in him when he saw it. There was a creature racing up behind the vampires, its fur was as white as snow, it bore the features of a wolf but it was far too large and it’s posture was almost… human. Brynjolf quickly realised that the mob was running from the creature, killing anything and anyone that got in their way. Brynjolf’s dagger collided with the chest of one vampires and he saw the vampire’s eyes fade to black as life drifted from their body. Ysolda was still frozen, her body shaking in fear.

The two Nords watched in horror as the monster tore the vampires apart limb from limb, staining it’s almost silver fur with dark blood. Once all of them lay dead, the beast turned its attention to Brynjolf. The creature rose onto it’s two hind legs as it approached, and that was when Brynjolf saw its eyes. They were green, but dark and they stared straight at him. For a split second he thought he saw confusion in the creature’s eyes but it was quickly replaced by something that resembled anger. The beast growled and lunged forward. Brynjolf raised his daggers, bracing himself for the impact. But it never came. An arrow sped through the air and plunged into the beast’s shoulder. The creature let out a deafening howl and started to stagger on its legs, causing it to fall on its side, whimpering. Brynjolf quickly lowered his weapons as a guard came into view, another arrow at the ready. The beast appeared to be shaking violently on the ground, a small pool of blood forming around its shoulder. It’s eyes were still fixed on Brynjolf, even as the lids of its dark eyes started flutter.

“Stand down!” A male voice yelled, causing Brynjolf to shift his gaze from the beast to the tall man that came into view. He wore the armour of a companion and had grey hair that was tied back into a ponytail. Brynjolf suddenly felt very uncomfortable with the presence of so many guards and now the Companions had decided to hop in as well.

“We will take it from here, please return to your duties.” Skjor bellowed, stepping towards the injured beast. The guard grunted in disapproval, but did not challenge the Companion, instead he stalked off, cursing.

 

Mirileth felt the blood oozing from the wound as she lay on the ground. She could feel her heart beating rapidly as her eyes met his shining green ones. _What is he doing here?_ A question that she she did not want to admit that she knew the answer to. She saw the way that Ysolda was clutching his arm, shaking in fright and it was a moment when she could almost feel her heart shatter, and it caused her to cry out. Miri became aware that her body was changing and fear shook through her. _He can’t see me like this._ She tried to get up but her strength was leaving her. She felt a pair of hands on her fur and managed to tilt her head to see Skjor leaning over her. Aela followed covering her with a blanket. When Mirileth turned her head to find Brynjolf, he was gone and Ysolda with him.

 A tear dropped from the eye of the wolf as it’s vision faded to darkness.

 

The road to Valenwood had been long and uneventful. The now four companions had moved relatively fast through Cyrodiil’s mainly green landscape. Iszalirah mainly kept to herself, and in the nights when the trio gathered around the campfire, she settled for going for long walks to clear her troubled mind.

_“Iszalirah, do you know what this is?” Marcus beamed down at her, she was only fourteen years old, and already as smart as any scholar he’d come across. He watched her as her icy blue eyes widened when she glimpsed what was resting in the glass display in front of them._

_“The mask of the Grey Fox! I thought it was lost Marcus, where did you find it?” she exclaimed, having to resist the urge to press her hands on the glass._

_“Let’s just say I came across it in my travels, little one.” He ruffled her hair and left her to study the grey mask with the glowing blue details. It had been said that the mask was stolen from Nocturnal. The thought of being within inches of a daedric artefact excited young Iszalirah. One day it would be hers, and she would bring the Grey Fox back to the Guild._

Iszalirah’s thoughts were brought back to the present when she heard someone walking up behind her. She turned to see Erik hesitantly moving towards her. She smiled weakly at him, her exhaustion evident on her face.

“The others, they wanted to know how much longer it’s going to take us to get there.” He stood next to her, there was a cliff in front of them, Erik could see a breath-taking valley that lay below and it made him shudder.

“Another two days, give or take.” She sounded more reserved than her usual outgoing persona. Erik looked at her; she seemed lost in thought, her thick dark eyebrows furrowed and her icy blue eyes distant.

“Why don’t you ever sit with us?” It was random, he knew that, but it had been bothering him and he was curious. Hell, he hardly knew anything about the woman.

“To me this is a business trip, and you are not members of my family, therefore I do not wish to become attached.” She replied, her eyes looking out across the valley. Erik took her coldness towards him as his cue to leave, even though he wanted to stay.

 

Lydia made her way to Anoriath’s stall in the Whiterun marketplace, the bloodied carcass of a rabbit hung over her shoulder. It had been a bad day for hunting, the previous’ night’s vampires had scared off most of the wild animals and there wasn’t much to kill. Anoriath smiled at her, coinpurse at the ready.

“It’s good to see that you brought something back, my brother had less fortunate luck.” He said as he took the rabbit from her and handed her the coinpurse.

“I could see why, there was barely anything out there apart from wolves.” Lydia glanced towards the other side of the marketplace, where blood still stained the ground.

“How is out Thane doing?” Anoriath inquired, noticing the look of distaste that crossed her fair features when she saw the blood. Lydia looked down at him, confused.

“I wouldn’t know.” Then it was Anoriath’s turn to look confused, he raised an eyebrow and leant forward on his stall.

“Lydia, I thought you knew. She’s returned!” He said, trying to read her reaction. This would make good gossip at the Huntsman in the evening. Lydia simply took a step back, lowering her gaze as she rushed back to Breezehome. She shut the door behind her and leant back against it. _She’s back and she didn’t even send word, or come to see me._ The Housecarl banged her head against the door, upset that her one friend had discarded her.

 

 

The only sounds that could be heard in the small home of Ysolda was that of the fading fire and passionate moans coming from her bed. Brynjolf held onto her hips as he thrusted deeply into her. Ysolda held onto the edge of the bed as he took her from behind. Her breaths grew more shallow as his thrusts quickened in pace, he was almost feral in his love-making, if that was what you could even call this, Ysolda thought. She didn’t even know his name, one minute he was comforting her after the incident with the vampires and that Hircine cursed beast and the next they were naked on her bed all over each other. Not that she was complaining in any way, she’d never been taken quite like that before and the thought of being so intimate with a dark handsome stranger excited her. His hold on her hips tightened and his thrusts became almost aggressive as he became close to his climax, the sound of their bodies colliding becoming more perverse as he grew closer to the edge.  He withdrew from her just as his climax began to tear through him, he expertly flipped Ysolda onto her back and spilled onto her belly as he leant down and kissed her roughly. He collapsed at her side and pulled her against his chest. Ysolda was fast asleep within seconds, breathing heavily against him. He tried to banish the memories of the last time he had spent the night with a woman. Mirileth felt like a distant memory, as if she wasn’t a person anymore, destined to become a song to be sung in taverns and a story told by countless parents to their children. She had been so real once, he winced as he remembered the feel of her soft bare skin against his, her smile which she wore so rarely. He fought to bring his thoughts to the now, to his mission that he dreaded. He knew that he was betraying her, but it was a necessary sacrifice for the guild, even if she was technically Guild Master now. Groaning slightly, Brynjolf carefully removed the woman from his embrace and got up from the narrow bed. He dressed quickly, not wishing to be there when Ysolda woke. Throwing his cloak around his shoulders and raising his hood, Brynjolf stepped out into the warm outside air.

When Brynjolf had silently closed the door behind him, he spun around to face a haunting sight.

Mirileth stood before him, pale as snow, wearing nothing but a basic shift. Her silver hair seemed lighter, almost white, but it fell past her waist in tangles and loose curls. Her eyes were dark, and full of pain. She was injured, there was a blood stain on her shift where her shoulder was. Brynjolf for once was at a loss for words, part of him wanting to run to her and hold her, and part of wanting to run.

“Lass, wha-“ He started, but she raised a hand and cut him off. Her lips were trembling. That’s when he saw the guards, there were three of them, they were keeping their distance but still watching them. Now every sense in his body was telling him to run.

“Bryn…jolf. Long time, no see.” Pain laced her words and he wanted to believe it was just from the wound on her shoulder.

“You’re hurt, you need help lass.” And she did, he could see the blood stain growing on her shift. He was desperately trying to think of some kind of plan to get out of there. Mirileth looked offended at his words and took a step towards him.

“I will get help when I find out what… the hell you’re doing here.” Her hand reached up to her wounded shoulder and clutched it, trying to put pressure on it to stop the bleeding. Brynjolf opened his mouth to produce yet another brilliant lie but she let out a low growl, stopping him.

“But of course, I already know.” There was now a deeply sinister tone to her voice, and Brynjolf took a step back.

“How _is_ Maven doing these days?” she tilted her head as she spoke, and she moved towards him. Brynjolf stiffened, realising that she’s been playing in the dark all along. _How could I have been so blind?_

“Mirileth, I swear it’s not what you think.” He could do better than that, but his mind was in a daze.

“Spare me the endless lies, Brynjolf… I trusted you, I let you into my bed and you plot my murder with Maven?!” Her voice rose but grew hoarse as her pain became more intense. She swayed a little but Brynjolf did not move to catch her, he needed to leave.

“Mirileth, I never agreed to the Brotherhood getting involved.” And he was telling the truth, he had never wanted her dead. He loved her in his own way, but he would never admit to that. And seeing her like this pained him, but she knew that to him, the Guild would always come first.

“But the Brotherhood did get involved, and you still come to my city to spy on me. Or is it to charm your way into my bed so that you can inform Maven of my plans? I am your Guild Master, you seem to have forgotten that.” Her voice trembled slightly, but she never broke eye contact with him. He felt anger growing inside him now, she didn't get it.

“That’s interesting lass, because you’re never at the Guild, when was the last time you were even in Riften? You don’t give a damn about us, and I can’t blame you but I won’t let the Guild suffer for it.” He clenched his fists and Mirileth lowered her gaze but moved close to him and placed her hand on his clenched fist. He wanted to push her away but something was stopping him. Something wanted him to reach out to her but he did not dare.

“So you sentence me to death and you fuck any woman you can get your hands on?” He couldn’t believe the lack of emotion in her voice, even though she was in so much pain. He pulled his hand from hers but did not move away from her. When he didn’t respond, Mirileth reached up and lowered his hood, revealing his long auburn hair. She shifted onto the balls of her feet so that her face was next to his ear, he could feel her breath on him, and he had to fight the urge to wrap his arms around her.

“You should have let me _die_.” Her words cut him like a sword and he buckled, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him, tears forming in his emerald eyes.

“No, Mirileth. Please…” He wanted this to stop, he wanted to be free of Maven’s orders and he wanted things as they were, before Mirileth. It hurt to admit it, and with a sudden realisation he knew why he did nothing to protect her against the Brotherhood, but there was a part of him that longed for her and he could not let it go.

Mirileth pushed him away, barely being able to because of her injury, and Brynjolf saw that the guards were closer now, on either side of her.

“Seize him.” Her voice was cold. And she looked at him with the hauntingly blank expression he’d seen too many times before. Brynjolf knew there was no point in struggling as two guards pushed him to his knees. Mirileth walked towards him again, a conjured sword appearing in her hand.

_No, she wouldn’t…_

Mirileth raised the sword, the guards looking at her nervously, not knowing whether to allow her to do this. The cold look she shot them made them tighten their grip on him.

_I can’t die like this._

The sword came down. And cut Brynjolf’s cheek, leaving a gash just below his eye. The sword turned to ashes in her hand and she smirked and nodded to one of the guards.

“Remember to send Maven my regards.” And then a fist connected with the side of his head,


	12. Fallen Harbinger

The door to Breezehome burst open and a pair of guards flooded in, carrying an unconscious Dragonborn in with them. Lydia shot up from her seat in front of the fire and ran to assist them.  She paused when she saw Mirileth covered in blood. The guards practically dumped the poor girl on her and then said something about sending her up to the jarl when she was healed. They left quickly, as if they were afraid of her. Lydia picked up Mirileth and carried her up to her room, carefully avoiding the infected wound on her shoulder. When Lydia placed Mirileth carefully down on the bed, Miri’s eyes fluttered open and she grasped Lydia’s arm, panting.

“Lydia…” She could barely speak; her skin felt like it was on fire. Lydia put her hand on Miri’s forehead, but did not respond to her. She treated her Thane’s injuries in silence while Mirileth’s screams and sobs tore through the small house. Lydia hated seeing her in so much pain, however still could not bring herself to forgive her.

 

_Mirileth’s vision started to clear as she lifted herself off the cold snowy ground. She became painfully aware that she was naked, and there was a bandage wrapped around her shoulder. Her entire body ached as she unsteadily rose to her feet. Her vision fixed on the figure standing in front of her, it was Aela. The Huntress looked at her with a sickening smirk twisting her lips._

 

_Aela and Mirileth sped through the werewolf hunter’s base, leaving a trail of bloodied bodies behind them. Mirileth appreciated the fight, it kept her mind off the thief, who she had no doubt was in bed with Ysolda as she tore countless Silver Hand members apart with her Thu’um. The hunger she had felt before the beastblood was stronger now, almost like a sixth sense, a constant tingling at the back of her mind. Her senses felt sharper, and she was more alert with her movements being faster than ever before._

_The pair reached the Skinner’s lair quickly; they were both out of breath and covered in blood and dirt. Aela shoved the battered wooden door open and the two of them burst in, Aela’s arrows flying in all directions and Mirileth’s conjured beasts tearing the hunters apart. Mirleth conjured her swords as she ran at the Skinner, with three blows his limp body collapsed in a heap, allowing Mirileth’s attention to turn to Aela, who cried out when she saw the body of Skjor, beaten bloody and lifeless._

_“Those bastards, somehow they managed to kill Skjor…” Aela said with her eyes downcast. Mirileth could tell that she was fighting back the tears. Mirileth felt a chill creep over her, calming her beastly hunger for blood. And she suddenly felt numbingly human again as her fallen brother lay dead on the cold floor._

 

The thief awoke with a start. The first thing he noticed was the intense agony coming from his head. The ground beneath him cold dirt, and when his vision finally adjusted, he saw the unforgiving tundra of the central hold of Skyrim. _The bastards dumped me outside the city walls._ Brynjolf slowly got up from the ground, wincing in pain. He lifted his hand and traced the large cut on his cheek that had been made my Mirileth’s blade. _That’s going to leave a bloody scar._ The thief nearly fell to his knees again when he remembered the burning emptiness in her eyes, she had known everything. It didn’t make sense, he had made sure that he covered his tracks with Maven. Perhaps it was his fault for distancing himself from her. Mirileth must of picked up that something was wrong when he couldn’t even bare to be in the same room as her, he knew that the Brotherhood was after her and he had wanted to spare himself the pain of losing the woman he loved.

_Loved? No._ It wasn’t love, it was lust and admiration, and he’d let them get the best of him.

He had to get back to the Guild and warn the others, but he didn’t know how to tell the people that admired her so much that their leader was losing her mind. Brynjolf found that the guards were at least kind enough to leave his horse tied to a tall tree next to where they dumped him. As he began the long ride back to Riften, he thought of the beast that had nearly killed him that night. Those eyes that were so hauntingly familiar, the way it had cried out when the arrow pierced its shoulder. His mind shot to the image of Mirileth, standing in front of him. _Her hand clutching the wound on her shoulder._ The beast had silver fur, like the hair of the Dragonborn. _Her eyes._ It was all hitting him at a rapid speed, the sudden realisation that the creature had been _her._ Brynjolf had heard of werewolves before, there were a few of them in Falkreath, which is why he tended to stay clear of the place. Mirileth would be unstoppable now, with her dragon blood and now the strength and form of a werewolf, the Brotherhood didn’t stand a chance. Part of him almost felt relieved, perhaps she wasn’t going to die, but the rational part of him was telling him that he had to warn Maven. This was beyond both of them now.

 

The city of Arenthia was a strange exotic place to the three Blades, but familiar territory to Iszalirah, who had travelled there many times before. It wasn’t as large as many of the cities back in Cyrodiil, but its architecture was the most foreign they’d ever come across. There were massive trees with houses built into them and bridges that connected them. It was a sight to behold.

They followed Iszalirah into a rather large house in the centre of the city. Iszalirah glanced around to check if anyone was watching them before she disappeared inside, the others following closely behind. Once they were all inside, the beauty of the place was overwhelming. On the ceiling, branches had been moulded and shaped to create beams with vines encircling them and hanging down from them. It was one large circular room, and at the other end there was a large throne twisted together with the same branches that covered the rest of the room. Upon the throne sat a rather old looking Bosmer, with long grey hair and tanned wrinkled skin. Uthgerd guessed that he must be the person in charge. Iszalirah strutted up to the throne, an unsettling smile on her lips.

“Moving up in the world, eh Bergorn?” She did a little bow, and raised an eyebrow at the Bosmer.

“Iszalirah, long time no see. I received your note this morning. I have the information you requested, old friend.” His voice was unusually deep for a wood elf, but there was a warmth in it that made the others relax a little.

“Thank you Bergon, Is there anything you can tell me yourself about this man?” Iszalirah knelt in front if the throne, not wishing to disrespect the old Bosmer.

“Yes my dear, You will find that he is making his way back North, to the ancient headquarters of the Blades, that is where you will find him. He has set in motion a chain of events that must be stopped. The Hero must not rise in any form.” Bergon’s voice grew hoarse and cold as he spoke of the Necromancer.

The Blades all looked at each other uncertainly. Were they going to have to face the Hero of Kvatch in open battle?

 

 

_“A certain strength of spirit perhaps…” Kodlak said, looking at Miri with a warm smile. He was the friendliest person she’d encountered in days._

_“Master, you can’t truly be considering accepting her?” Vilkas interjected, causing Mirileth to clench her fists at the dark haired warrior. Who the hell did he think he was?_

 

_Later on, after Mirileth had been given the opportunity to hit Vilkas a couple of times with her sword, she was in. Finally she could get round to receiving the training that she deserved. After Vilkas’s rather slow but friendly brother gave her the details of her first mission, Miri found herself wondering the halls of Jorrvaskr. She stopped when she once again came to Kodlak’s chambers. He was sitting exactly where he had been when she’d first saw him, he looked lost in thought and Mirileth did not wish to disturb the old Harbinger. She’d taken a step back but the floor creaked and he looked up from the table._

_“Ah, Mirileth come sit child.” He said and beckoned her with a gauntlet-clad hand. Mirileth went and sat down on the chair next to him, fidgeting with her hands, she didn’t quite know what to expect from the old man._

_“I have faith that you will prove to be a more than capable warrior, how do you feel about your new shield-siblings?” Kodlak inquired, offering Miri an apple as he spoke._

_“They’re… nice, I suppose I’ll get to know them better.” She didn’t see the point in lying to him, he seemed reasonable enough to put himself in her shoes. He’d probably been in her shoes._

_“Yes, don’t let Vilkas get to you, he’s just reserved that’s all.” He said with a sympathetic smile, and for the first time that day, Mirileth smiled back. Maybe the Companions weren’t such a bad idea after all._

Mirileth burst through the doors of Jorrvaskr, her hair all over the place with dried blood still on her face.  Farkas and Vilkas were kneeling over something in front of the fire. When Vilkas got up, Mirileth’s knees buckled.

Kodlak was there, dead. His body lay in front of the fire, and Farkas was kneeling beside him, a look of anger in his eyes. Mirileth felt a hand on her shoulder and suddenly it was pulling her up and shoving her against a wall.

“Where have you been? ” Vilkas’ voice was icy cold, laced with anger and frustration. His hands were pressing on her collarbone, but Miri felt so numb she felt like she couldn’t move. _Kodlak is dead._ She couldn’t even look Vilkas in the eye.

“I was doing Kodlak’s bidding.” Her voice was almost a whisper and Vilkas realised she was in shock and let go of her. His face softened a little, but the anger was still there.

“It better have been important, because it meant that you weren’t here to defend him.” His words cut her like knives, and Mirileth slumped against the wall, burying her face in her hands. She didn’t want to have to look at him anymore.

“We’re going to wipe them out.” Vilkas announced, but he wasn’t looking at everyone else, he was looking at her. He picked up her bow which she had dropped when she crashed in, and chucked it at her, Mirileth caught it just in time. _A mission alone with him? This can’t get any worse._

 

The Silver Hand fell to easily, Mirileth and Vilkas were unstoppable in their anger and grief. Mirileth thought of Kodlak as she tore through the werewolf hunters, and she thought of those Hircine worshipping witches that she had slaughtered. She had told Vilkas about that mission on the way to the Silver Hand headquarters, and he had looked relieved. They hadn’t talked about much else on the journey, they always seem to end up in some form of disagreement, so they’d opted for silence. Now that all the Silver Hand lay dead, and the fragments of the Companions ancient weapon Wuuthrad were safely secured in Mirileth’s back pack, Vilkas turned to face her.

“We should get back to Jorrvaskr…” Vilkas’s voice trailed off when he saw Mirileth leant over a table, tears streaming down her face, her entire body shaking. He’d never seen her show much emotion before, so this was uncharted territory for him. He walked over to her, unsure of how to respond.

“I’m going to die Vilkas. I’m going to die, and I never said goodbye to Kodlak, the one friend I have despises me for trying to disclude her from all this, and the one man I dared to care for is involved in a plot to kill me.” As she spoke she knocked a lantern to the floor and it smashed at Vilkas’s feet, making him step back.

“You’re not going to die, Mirileth.” It was all he could think of to say, but even he sounded uncertain. He knew that she would have to face Alduin, and that the day was approaching rapidly. He didn’t want her to die, not just because Skyrim depended on it, but he knew that she deserved better.

“I can’t do this. I’m terrified, and there’s no one left.” She lowered her head, sobbing gently.

Vilkas didn’t know what to say, and it wasn’t often that he was at a loss for words. He’d always thought of her as strong , as if nothing could ever touch her. Seeing her like this made him realise how vulnerable she was, she looked as if she was going to shatter at any second. Without thinking it through, Vilkas walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest.  She fought him a bit at first, but soon collapsed into him, sobbing against him. He didn’t try to talk to her, or make some sort of move, he just held her while her walls came tumbling down around her. 

 

The trek back through Cyrodiil seemed shorter than it had been going the other way, and soon the four of them were back in Bruma, dreading what was to come. They all sat in the tavern in silence, drinking all the mead that they could afford, which thanks to Iszalirah, was a lot. The Redguard was the first to retire to her room, offering them a knowing smile as she departed. Erik watched her go, he suddenly felt conflicted in his feelings. This might be his last night alive, and the rest of the group had noticed the way his gaze lingered on Iszalirah longer than any other’s.

“Go, Erik. You may not get another chance, friend.” Uthgerd broke the silence, shooting him a mischievous glance. Erik looked at her uncertainly, and then it was Marcurio’s turn.

“She’s right go, or I will.” Marcurio’s sinister smirk is what made Erik get up from the table, and the other two chuckled. Erik made his way to where their rooms were, hesitating slightly outside her door. He knocked twice, before he could knock a third time, the door swung open. Iszalirah stood in front of him, smiling. And she appeared to be wearing one of his tunics. Erik smiled at the beauty before him, his heart fluttering.

“I was wondering if you were ever going to turn up, Nord.” She said as she grabbed his cloak and pulled him into the room, her foot expertly kicking the door shut behind him. Her hands worked quickly on his armour, and most of it soon went crashing to the floor. Erik wrapped his arms around her, kissing her deeply. Her hands enfolded around the base of his neck, pulling him even closer so that their bodies were pressed against each other. Erik broke the kiss, he gazed briefly into her icy blue eyes before he moved back, his hands untied the laces of the tunic, and it fell from her shoulders, revealing her beautifully curved body. Erik drew in a sharp breath as she walked around him, hips swaying. She climbed onto the bed and cocked her head at him.

“Your clothes, take them off.” The lust in her voice made Erik suddenly aware of his hardness. He did as instructed, tossing his breaches and tunic to the floor. He climbed on top of her, his mouth tracing her dark skin as he made his way up. Iszalirah moaned softly and raked her hand through his ginger hair. His mouth traced over her stomach, and her breasts, before finding her full lips. Iszalirah raised her hips to grind against him, causing Erik to groan into her mouth and press his hips against hers. She gasped when she felt his manhood against her and her hands grabbed onto his broad back.

When he entered her, her hands clawed at his skin as their breathing grew heavy. His own hands reached in between their bodies and cupped her round breasts as he thrusted into her. His rhythm grew faster and he buried his face in her neck, biting and sucking. Iszalirah raised her hips again, matching his rhythm, the ecstasy of him inside her driving her insane. He slowed his pace as he heard her whimpering, making each thrust as deep as he could, the bed slamming against the wall behind it. They knew that it was highly possible that the entire tavern could hear them, but they didn’t care, it was also likely that they weren’t going to live until the next sunrise.


	13. The Battle Of The Undead

Uthgerd had sat at the same table the entire night, she had run out of mead a little after midnight but had desided to stay awake seeing as everyone had retired. She had tried to shut her ears to the sound of banging coming from upstairs, knowing very well what was causing it. Marcurio had departed to their shared room with a bottle of mead, muttering to himself. Uthgerd enjoyed her solitude, with her thoughts as her only company. She thought of home, what her life had been before the Blades. Although she could say that she missed it dearly, her life had a purpose now, she was fighting for something. Uthgerd could not help but let her mind wonder whether the Dragonborn would have done the same for them, probably not, but it was a nice thought.  Uthgerd glanced out the window to see dawn starting to break, the sky turning a pale pink over the city walls. She had not really slept, but the panic of facing such a powerful being would not let sleep take her. Marcurio had offered her comfort, but she had declined, she could not say that she felt an attraction for the dark haired imperial, or for anyone for that matter. Love had never been a prime interest of hers, it never appealed to her in the way people and scholars described it. What she wanted was to fight, and to find honour and glory like her father had wished her to.

Bruma was a beautiful city to Uthgerd, with its buildings of pale stone and Nordic architecture, it felt like home. Uthgerd felt her eyes begin to drift closed, she rested her head on the table and let her mind wander. Just as she was falling into a slumber, the sound of a war horn made her open her eyes and leap to her feet. She pressed her hands to the window and saw people running from their houses, screaming. A purple glow surrounded the guards like a halo, and they were slaughtering the people. Uthgerd’s eyes widened and her hand immediately unsheathed her katana.

 

Iszalirah awoke to the sound of distant screams, and someone was shaking her.  She opened her eyes to find Erik, half-dressed leaning over her, his eyes wide with fear. Iszalirah pushed him off and sat up on the bed.

“Bruma is under attack, the guards have turned against the city, I think they’ve killed the Count. Uthgerd and Marcurio have gone to help the Fighter’s Guild claim back the city. We need to run.” Erik’s words were rushed, he was pulling on pieces of armour as he spoke.

“What in Oblivion? What do you mean the guards?” Iszalirah leaped up from the bed, pulling her tunic over her head. She glanced frantically around the room to locate her trousers and boots. Once she spotted them lying on the floor across the room, she darted over, brushing past Erik who was in the process of grabbing his katana.

“Uthgerd thinks someone broke into the barracks in killed them all in their sleep, they’re undead Iszalirah.” He stopped fidgeting with his scabbard and walked up to her, grabbing her by the shoulders, he looked into her eyes, trying to read the expression on her face. Iszalirah glanced up at him, she was only a little shorter than he was, and without thinking she grabbed his face and pulled it to her, kissing him deeply before pushing him away.

“Let’s go kill some zombies then.” She flashed him one of her smirks that he’s grown so fond of. His heart fluttered before it dropped, remembering what awaited them outside.

 

The city was going up in flames, every person that perished, rose again surrounded by that sickly purple glow. They were attacking anything and everyone that moved and had a pulse. Screams and the burning of houses deafened the Blades and the warriors as they cut down the undead.

“At this rate the entire village will be slaughtered, we need to get to the source.” Iszalirah shouted over the screams, Uthgerd heard her and nodded as she impaled yet another undead guard with her katana.

“You and I can go to the temple, there’s no time to find the others!” Uthgerd replied, stopping for a moment to wipe her sword clean on the fallen guard’s cuirass. Uthgerd wasn’t completely trusting of the Redguard thief, but she had caused them no harm thus far, and their options were depleting by the second. The two women cut their way through the undead army and ran through Bruma’s main gate, headed for Cloud Ruler Temple.

 

Light snow began to fall on the grounds of the ancient temple, the winds of the North howling. As Uthgerd and Iszalirah climbed the steps to the temple, a vile smell filled the air. The place reeked of death. Iszalirah had her two ebony short swords drawn, her eyes darting in all directions as they ascended the steps to Cloud Ruler Temple. Uthgerd felt the pit of fear in her stomach as they found the place still deserted on first inspection, she knew that that was not the case.

The doors to the main hall swung open, making both women jump and clutch on to their weapons just a bit tighter. A figure walked through the doors, a man with long dark hair that flew about his shoulders in the wind. He was naked, with strange dark markings all over his body; the Necromancer stepped out into the harsh cold of weather, unaffected by it. There was a blank expression on his face as he studied the two people that stood before him.

“A Blade in the company of a thief, my, my, how the mighty have fallen.” His voice was deep and calm, as if the two women in front of him with their weapons drawn showed no threat to him. “You Blade, I presume you’re here to clear the name of the ashen haired girl. And you thief, I presume that you’re here for this.” The Necromancer raised his arm, revealing that he was clutching the mask of the Gray Fox. Iszalirah inhaled loudly, her eyes fixed on the mask.

“You see, I needed several artifacts linked to the Hero of Kvatch. This was one of them, I’ll gladly return it to you, after the Hero has risen.” His eyes flashed a deathly red, Uthgerd hadn’t noticed until that moment that he was an Altmer, and that’s where she knew that magic was going to be a problem.

“Why? Why must you force them back into this world?” Iszalirah demanded, Uthgerd was surprised by her anger, she had never seen the thief show so much emotion before.

The Necromancer laughed, his red eyes gleaming in the morning light. “I need a champion for my army, and who better than the savior of Cyrodiil?” The man was insane, delusional if he thought he could take on the Imperial Legion with an army of undead. _Every soldier that falls shall rise again._

It happened in a flash, Uthgerd leapt forward bringing her Katana down upon the Necromancer. The man raised a hand and a bolt of lightning sent Uthgerd crashing to the ground, gasping for breath. Iszalirah gasped, part of her wanting to run to Uthgerd, but she knew that she had to stop this monster. The Necromancer turned to face Iszalirah, an eerie smile on his thin lips. Iszalirah let her swords drop to the ground in a clatter. The man’s smile turned to a look of triumph at her surrender. Uthgerd let out a cry of frustration and pain when she saw Iszalirah surrender. The man turned his back to them and a huge purple flash came from the inside of the temple, making Iszalirah’s eyes widen with terror. _It is done._ Suddenly, a golden glow engulfed Uthgerd as she healed. Uthgerd shot a confused glance to Iszalirah who just gave a reassuring look accompanied by a wink. Uthgerd rose to her feet and as she did, Iszalirah raised her hands and a great ball of fire shot from her palm, hitting the Necromancer in the back sending him crashing into a wall. Uthgerd remembered that the thief had once been a mage, she had underestimated her.

The Necormancer struggled to stand; the pain of the burns was overwhelming. He had not sensed magicka in the Redguard, and had too, underestimated her. It was too late for them now; the flash from the temple assured him that the Hero was back from the planes of Oblivion. The Necromancer raised his hands and shot a ball of lightning at the Redguard, which she expertly dodged. Iszalirah countered his attack with another ball of fire, but he managed to cast a ward just before the spell reached him. A second bolt of lightning hit Iszalirah on the arm, casuing her to stagger briefly. From the entrance of the temple emerged a figure laced in a deep purple, almost black, shadow. The figure appeared to have no distinct features, and it looked completely androgynous. _The Shadow of the Hero._ Uthgerd realised, the Necromancer would never be able to recreate the Hero’s former body, and instead had summoned its shadow. Uthgerd’s heart dropped and she glanced at Iszalirah, who was busied in a magical conflict with the Altmer. Uthgerd realised that it would have to be she who would face the Hero. She reluctantly raised her katana and ran towards the figure. As she did, flashes of her home, Skyrim, ripped through her mind. The day she had failed the Companions, the time she had met Mirileth, the strange silver haired girl who would prove to be a hero. The day she had been inducted into the Blades, the warmth and happiness of finally being accepted.

Iszalirah saw Uthgerd charge forward form the corner of her eye, and her heart dropped. “Uthgerd, NO!” But she was too late, and a bolt of fire hit Iszalirah in the stomach, sending her flying back to the edge of the steps, the breath knocked out of her. She watched in horror as Uthgerd raised her weapon to the shadow.

A daedric sword was conjured in the Shadow’s hand, but Uthgerd still charged forward, tears of fear stinging the edges of her eyes. She raised her katana but was met with a ball of lightning to her side and she was flung across the courtyard of the temple. The Shadow seemed to pause, shocked by the movement.

The Necromancer lowered his hands, the burning sensation of magicka pulsing through his veins form the spell he had just cast at Uthgerd. She now lay slumped against the wall at the other end of the yard, and the Necromancer smiled when he saw the Shadow.

The Hero of Kvatch walked towards the man who had called the summoning. The Altmer glanced towards the thief who was now crawling towards the lifeless body of the Blade and then back to the Shadow, as if silently giving them the order.

Iszalirah had to get to Uthgerd, she only had a little magicka left in her, and she had to use it to heal Uthgerd if she was still alive. As she dragged herself towards Uthgerd, she became aware that the Shadow was moving towards her, its weapon at the ready. Iszalirah painfully raised herself to her feet, regretting that she had flung her swords to the ground earlier. She knew that this was probably the end. She thought of Marcus, would he be proud that she had at least tried to bring the mask back? Was Erik still alive? _I will never know._ But she was wrong.

The Redguard felt someone shove her aside, sending her crashing to the ground once more. Iszalirah looked up in shock as the sight of light glass armour and silver hair made her cry out in disbelief.

Mirileth raised Chillrend and slashed the conjured sword from the Shadow’s hand. She was well aware that the Hero of Kvatch stood in front of her, although in the form of a mortal shaped shadow. To her shock, the Shadow did not conjure another weapon, it did not fight back. It just stood, looking at her.

“I should have killed you a long time ago!” Cried the Necromancer as he approached the Dragonborn. Immediately Mirileth’s attention shifted from the Shadow to the Necromancer, her eyes full of hatred.

The Breton did not reply with words, instead she charged at the Necromancer and brought Chillrend down on him. The necromancer shrieked as the blade made contact with shoulder. Blood spilled from the wound and down his torso. Mirileth raised her sword once more to strike him, but was knocked back by a ball of fire. Chillrend fell from her grasp and slid across the ground. Mirileth quickly got up, and two conjured swords appeared in her hand. Her mind was swimming in the thought of revenge; finally she would avenge her family. The adrenaline and wolf blood pumped through her veins and it made her senses sharper than ever. She could sense that his magicka was draining, there would be a very small window where she would be able to attack without being blasted back, but first she had to drain him completely. She used her Thu’um to push him back into the temple wall, the wall crumbled at the impact.

_The fire of the woods raged on as the two girls ran through the trees, they reached the clearing of the village and turned back to see that the flames just stopped at the treeline. Tysa glanced at Mirileth, unsure of what to do. Before they could move, an arrow cut through the air and hit Tysa in the chest. The little girl fell back, she didn’t even have time to scream. Mirileth shrieked at the sight of her bleeding sister lying on the forest floor. Mirileth drew her bow and unleashed an arrow upon the undead huntsman before rushing to her sister’s side._

_“Tysa, you’re going to be okay, I’ll go get help.” Tears were streaming down Miri’s face. Her sister looked so peaceful, she wasn’t moving. Miri screamed at the burning forest, cursing the man that had done this. She rested her sister’s still head on the mossy ground and ran to the village to warn the others._

The Necromancer climbed out through the rubble of the collapsed wall, blood dripping from his split lip. Mirileth launched at him, as her blades were about to plunge into his chest, his arm reached out and he grabbed the blades. Blood was trickling down his arms and the Necromancer’s face twisted in agony.

“You can slay me, but there is another with my powers and knowledge… A creature of the darkness, your paths will cross, _Dovahkiin._ ” His deep voice was hoarse and droplets of blood were falling onto his elven face. Mirileth spat at him.

“Then I shall slay them as well.” She replied, her voice low. She wanted to make his death slow, and intimate, the pain and destruction he had brought upon innocent people running through the Dragonborn’s mind. Finally, he let go of the blades and they plunged into his chest. Mirileth saw the exact moment that he stopped breathing, that his life escaped him. She smirked darkly and turned to face the Shadow.

The Shadow of the Hero walked slowly towards the Dragonborn, it’s hands slightly raised to show it had no ill intent. When it spoke, it’s voice sounded ethereal, but still completely androgynous.

“I must thank you stranger. As my summoner, I was bound to his command. But now you have freed me from my bond of magicka.” Mirileth stared at the Shadow as it spoke, quite astonished that a summoned being could have the ability to speak.

“How are you not dead seeing as the caster has perished?” It was Iszalirah who asked, the two figures turned to face her as she staggered towards them.

“It was not a mere conjuration spell that brought me back to the mortal realm. The man you encountered harnessed the power of various mages and artifacts to summon me, it is their power that keeps me here.” The Shadow cocked its head at the thief, and in a small purple flash, the mask of the Gray Fox appeared in one of its hands. “I understand that you are the Guild master of the Thieves. I was once counted upon your ranks, and I still see it as my duty to return this to you.” He handed Iszalirah the mask, who smiled warmly at the Shadow.

“Now, a Hero of another age must ask the Hero of a new age, for one wish.” The Shadow said as it turned to Mirileth. “I must ask you to kill this form of my being.” Mirileth didn’t need to ask any questions, she understood. The Shadow’s time had come and gone, and now it wanted to return to its afterlife.  

Iszalirah watched in pity as Mirileth used her conjured sword to plunge it into the Shadow’s chest. It was as if she had stabbed a cloud, there was no sound and the Shadow did not cry out, it simply dissolved into ashes before them. The two stood in silence for a while before Mirileth spoke.

“We meet again.” She had recognised the Redguard as soon as she had charged into the temple.

“And you are no child anymore, Dragonborn.” Iszalirah said, but she did not make eye contact with Mirileth. She merely glanced towards Uthgerd’s body, slumped against the wall.

Mirileth saw her friend lying there, lifeless, and lowered her head. _I was too late._

 


	14. A Night To Forget

_Flames danced on the wooden platform built upon the Skyforge. Mirileth watched as the flames engulfed Kodlak’s body, the crackling of the fire ringing in her ears. The rest of the Companions remained silent as they stood beside her, each with their heads bowed slightly as they watched their Harbinger pass to Sovngarde. Mirileth shook violently as she tried to suppress her tears. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Vilkas next to her, his eyes set on the forge. She glanced over to Aela who had a mixed look of anger and sorrow on her face, and Mirileth knew then that perhaps she was not alone after all._

And then, once again the Dragonborn watched a funeral pyre burn, not quite as bright as the Harbinger’s due to the light snow that was drifting down from the sky. Mirileth could see the silent tears run down Marcurio’s face. They had all built the pyre in the centre of the courtyard of Cloud Ruler Temple, now the four of them stood around it with a few surviving residents of Bruma, to honour Uthgerd. The sky was darkening above them, the beautiful night sky shadowed by clouds of falling snow. _If I had only gotten here quicker, there would be no funeral pyre this night._ Mirileth’s list of regrets was now growing to be painfully long, each memory a fist to her stomach. Uthgerd had wanted to be a companion; Mirileth remembered the night she had told her. The two had been drinking at the Bannered Mare and had ended up brawling. After Miri had beaten her in the fair fight, they drank some more and spoke of their pasts, although Mirileth did not delve much into hers. Uthgerd was a quiet one, but after a few tankards of mead she opened up, and told her how she had failed her trial quest for the Companions. It was meant to be a muscle job, nothing too complex, but Uthgerd’s temper caused her to lose her self-control, and she took the man’s life. Miri had seen the anger and pain in Uthgerd’s face when she told her story, and that was when she knew that she was someone that she could relate to. But here she was, lying on a bed of burning wood and it was all for the Dragonborn.  

“You’re death was not in vain.” Mirileth said under her breath. She wanted to cry, or shout or even scream but all she felt was numb. She saw Iszalirah looking at her through the dancing flames, but could not read her face. There was something about that woman that made Mirileth uncomfortable, even though she had helped her once.

Iszalirah looked at the ashen-haired girl through the fire. She had grown a lot since their last encounter, she was a woman now and although her youth was still clear in her features, there was a look of wisdom upon her fair face. Iszalirah’s thoughts drifted to what was to become of her now that she had successfully retrieved the Gray Wolf mask. It was her purpose in life to retrieve it and now that she had, she felt oddly empty. Perhaps she would keep in Erik’s company for a while longer, after all, she did have some unfinished business with the Skyrim branch of the Guild.

 

 

The Palace Of Kings was a chilling place to be during the Jarl’s darkened moods, the guards and servants would often stick to the shadows and bow their heads when his thundering voice echoed through the palace. On that particular evening, Ulfric had spent the entire day arguing with Galmar over Whiterun. He was losing the war, badly. The Northern King had eventually stormed out of the strategy room and had sent for a wench to keep him company for the night. The poor woman had looked terrified on her way to his room, but still would not pass on the opportunity to bed the Jarl of Windelm.

The guards posted outside Ulfric’s sleeping quarters tried to block out the sounds of aggressive grunting and lustful moans. They would serve their Jarl to their deaths; however hearing him during his rather intimate moments with women was not something that they had signed up for. It seemed like hours until the much appreciated silence once again filled the quarters of the Palace.

The two Stormcloak guards were taken by surprise when two darts flew through the air and pierced their necks. They fell to the cold floor, unconscious. A cloaked figure stepped out from the shadows and made it’s way towards them.

Mirileth kicked the guards, just to be sure that they were certainly knocked out. When she reached the Jarl’s door, she paused for a moment. _This can either go well or horribly wrong._ She burst through the door, a small ebony dagger in hand. The sight that met her was that of a bare woman lying tangled in the furs of Ulfric’s bed, her hair a dark blonde tangled mess. Mirileth glanced frantically around the room, but did not see the would-be King.

A hand grabbed Mirileth’s cloak, and before she could react she was being pushed up against the wall. The bloodied sack she had been carrying dropped to the floor, which awoke the naked woman on the bed. Mirileth looked into Ulfric’s eyes, for they were only inches away from her own.

“Susanna, leave us.” Ulfric’s voice was laced with fury, the raw anger clouding his eyes. Susanna pulled some furs around her and hurriedly departed from his chambers, closing the door behind her. As soon as the door closed, Mirileth kicked Ulfric’s shin, sending him wheeling back, cursing.

“Jarl Ulfric, I mean you no harm, I am only here to clear my name.” Mirileth said, picking up the sack that had fallen from her grasp. She had managed to compose herself quickly after being pinned to the wall. Ulfric was still panting.

“Was visiting me in the throne room too simple for your taste?” Ulfric said, straightening himself. He was wearing nothing but a pair of cloth trousers, his toned chest exposed. Mirileth opened the bloodied sack and emptied a decaying severed head onto the floor.

“This is the head of the Necromancer. I slayed him myself with the Blades as my witnesses. Most of the other Jarls have received word of my innocence, but I thought I would deliver you the news personally.” Ulfric glared at the head in distaste before raising his eye-line to meet the Dragonborn’s.

 “Personally?” Ulfric smirked, he walked up to Mirileth and reached out to lower her hood. Mirileth did not respond to his closeness, her eyes just remained fixed on his. There was a reason why she had come to him, and he was testing it. Mirileth brought her hands up to his chest, seeing how far he would let her take this. She had to admit that she felt an attraction to him, and the thought of his lips upon hers made her heart beat quicken in pace. But he was a Jarl, and she knew that it would not be wise, moreover she could not forget the way he had treated her when she had stayed in his palace during those early days.

“I’m glad that you have found peace and cleared your name, Dragonborn.” He was breathing deeply, and he raised his hand to cup her chin as he had done when she was younger. There was no innocence in her eyes like there had been and no fear, only a blankness that chilled him. He still wanted her, he had never stopped wanting her, but everything she had done defied him. He also knew that she wanted something from him, and that was why she was here, she knew the effect that she had on him.

As Ulfric’s face drew closer to hers, flashes of auburn hair and emerald green eyes shot through her mind. Mirileth winced, trying to push them to the back of her head, to lock them behind fortified doors. _No, you have no right to pass my mind._ The sudden urge to hurt Brynjolf overwhelmed her, to the point where she forgot that she was meant to be persuading Ulfric to attend the Peace Council. Without thinking it through, Mirileth reached up and wove her hands through Ulfric’s dark golden mane and crashed her lips to his.

Ulfric was taken by surprise, but kissed her back eagerly. His hands pulled the strings of her cloak and it fell to the floor. He grabbed her hands from his chest and with one hand pinned them above her head, against the wall. He did not trust her, and he was going to have full control of this. Ulfric’s lips left hers and traced her jaw, he was leaning over her, as he was much taller than she. Mirileth had to open her eyes to see his golden hair, to stop herself from thinking of the thief. When Ulfric bit her neck she cried out, half in pain and half in pleasure which made the Jarl chuckle against her skin.

“Tell me what you want, Dragonborn.” As he spoke his breath warmed the skin of her neck, and she let out a soft moan.

“I want… I need you to make me forget.” She whispered it and it was barely audible, but it made Ulfric stop and look her in the eyes. The look of understanding he gave her almost made her forget that he was a Jarl, one that had been cruel to her in the past; it was as if he was a different man. Ulfric slowly leaned in to kiss her, the impact of their lips making Mirileth shiver. The kiss was brief, as Ulfric proceeded to scoop her up into his arms and carry her over to the fire. He set her down on her feet and started to unbuckle her armour. She was soon standing before him in nothing but her tunic and he couldn’t help but let his hands roam her body. She once again placed her hands on his chest and guided him to the floor, her eyes never leaving his. She straddled him, grinding her hips against him and guided his hands to her waist. Ulfric let out a low growl as he felt Mirileth grind against his erection. Mirileth leant down to bit his lip and reached down between their heated bodies, untying the lace of his trousers, and freeing his manhood. As she lowered herself on to him, Ulfric tightened his grip on her hips, his nails digging into her skin. Her rhythm was slow at first, she had to adjust to his size, but as she eased her pace became quicker and the sound of their bodies colliding became louder. Ulfric leaned up to kiss her and his hands moved to her upper back, pulling her as close to him as possible as their pleasure grew. This was what Ulfric had wanted for so long, _her._ Her hands wrapped around the base of his neck as they grinded against each other. Mirileth moaned against his lips, and it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

“I’ve wanted you ever since I first laid eyes upon your face.” He said against her lips, and Mirileth slowed her rhythm at the sound of his words. The Jarl wove his hands through her long silver hair and pulled her head back ever so slightly so that he could look at her. He wanted to see her face as she came. He could feel her walls rippling around him so he knew that she was close, he felt himself throbbing inside her, desperate for release. It wasn’t long until she threw her head back and cried out, her Thu’um causing the walls of the room to vibrate around them. Ulfric followed after her, pulling her face to his as their movements grew slower.  He lay back on the fur rug, pulling her down with him and she rested her head against his chest.

Mirileth knew that lying with the leader of the rebels was foolish, but at that moment he was the only one who could make her forget Brynjolf, if only for one night. As soon as she felt Ulfric’s breathing grow even, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her, she carefully got up from the rug. She dressed quickly, knowing that dawn would soon break and the shadows of the night would not conceal her.


	15. Gray Wolf

Vex had often found herself drinking endless tankards of mead at the Flagon. The Guild was back on its feet again, making more coin than ever. But they were without a leader, even though Brynjolf pretty much ran things for Mirileth, he was no Guild Master. Vex knew very well what Brynjolf had done to their Guild Master, how his actions had driven her half mad. Brynjolf had been spending an awful a lot of time disappearing off to the Black-Briar Manor and Vex knew that he and Maven were planning something, and seeing as he had failed to inform her or Delvin on the matter she assumed that he was plotting against Mirileth. The two had been lovers, the entire guild knew that, so it had to be that Brynjolf had assessed that Mirileth was not in the guild’s best interests after all. _A bit too late for that, Bryn._ Not to mention that when he last returned from Whiterun, he had been babbling about werewolves and had spent the entire day getting completely wasted. Their leader had gone incognito and their second in command seemed to be keeping the entire guild in the dark, something had to be done.

As Vex chucked yet another empty tankard at Vekel to be re-filled, she heard a commotion behind her. Vex whipped her head around to find Dirge rolling about on the floor, clutching his crotch. A woman was standing over him; it only took Vex a moment to recognise her. _Well, we’re in need of some excitement around here._ Vex abruptly stood up from the bar, knocking her stool over in the process and succeeding in gaining the woman’s attention.

Iszalirah looked up from the man who was rolling around on the wooden planks. When she saw Vex walking towards her, she flashed the blonde thief a grin. Vex, however, was not even remotely amused at Iszalirah’s unwelcome entrance.

“It’s been a while, old friend.” There was warmth in the Redguard’s tone, but Vex knew better than to trust it.

“Suddenly remembered that we exist, that’s fortunate.” Vex’s stare was icy cold.

“I was sent here by your Guild Master, I believe we have certain matters to discuss.”

“Oh really? Our Guild Master has abandoned us for a while now, and she’s no longer welcome here.” The anger was welling up in Vex’s voice. Mirileth was a subject that the Guild had learnt to avoid.

“Well that alright then, seeing as I will now be acting as her eyes, ears and voice in her absence.” Iszalirah walked over to Vex and found pleasure in her confused look.

“Due to her obligations as Dragonborn, she is incapable of being here in person not that that matters much to you anyway it would seem. Therefore, I will be working with you in her stead.” And with that, Iszalirah pushed past Vex and sat herself down at one of the tables. _This is going to be amusing._

Brynjolf walked calmly into the Flagon after Etienne had informed him that they had a visitor. Etienne’s rushed description of the woman immediately made Brynjolf groan with disdain. This was the last thing he needed. He saw Iszalirah sitting at the table closest to the bar and walked over to her, but did not sit.

“I’ve been informed that you’ve been sent here by the Guild Master.” Iszalirah was surprised by the lack of usual charm and warmth that was lacking from his tone that she had known.

“So you’re not even using her name now, Bryn? You’re all acting as if she did wrong when you’re plotting to kill her.” Iszlairah knew that she was pushing her luck, but this situation had sparked her curiosity and she needed to learn more. Brynjolf slammed his palms down on the table and there was fury in his eyes, but Iszalirah did not flinch.

“Watch it lass, accusations like that can get you into some very unfortunate situations.” She had missed that strange accent, she even remembered a time when it had attracted her. She looked him up and down, noticing that he looked far scruffier than she remembered. His auburn hair was longer, and his beard had grown a bit. His emerald eyes looked dead, emotionless. _Killing never was his style._

“I think you’ll find that even Maven cannot do anything about my presence here. My connections out-rank even hers.” Iszalirah reached into her pack and picked up the Gray Wold mask and raised it for Brynjolf to see. Shock spread across his features and a smirk emerged on Iszalirah’s lips. Iszalirah then safely put it back in her pack before too many people got a glimpse of it.

“I must request a meeting with Maven, please arrange it as soon as possible.” Brynjolf nearly growled at the authority in her voice. He had never liked being a leader, but that did not make him a dog for people to order around. Even so, she was the Gray Wolf, so he didn’t have much choice in the matter.

“Very well. Oh, and Iszalirah?” She lifted her head at the use of her name.

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever mention Mirileth here again.”

 

_The two women sat on the steps that led up to the Warriors Guild in the desolate city of Bruma. The snow had ceased to fall but Mirileth still felt herself shaking from the harsh cold. Iszalirah wore Erik’s cloak around her shoulders_ and _was staring blankly into the distance. Mirileth looked at the Redguard woman, she was so beautiful it was like staring directly into the sun._

_“I must ask a favour of you.” Then it was Mirileth’s turn to stare at the distant buildings and the aftermath of the battle._

_“Go on.” Iszalirah sounded exhausted and drained. Mirileth knew that not only had Uthgerd died in front of her, but also Iszalirah would have to say goodbye to Erik. It didn’t take a genius to see that there was tension between the two of them._

_“Now that you are in possession of the mask, I need you to keep an eye on the Riften Thieves Guild. Brynjolf and Maven are plotting my death as we speak.”_

_“Brynjolf? He’s not usually one for killing.” Iszalirah looked at Mirileth and thought that she saw a brief hint of sadness cross her features._

_“I believed that once. The truth is that he does only what benefits him and the Guild. And that at the moment unfortunately, for whatever reason, appears to be my demise.” Mirileth flinched at her own words._

_“You were lovers.” Iszalirah stated, voicing her realisation._

_“Yes, and it has caused me nothing but pain. I need you to make sure that they do not make a move against me, find out Maven and Brynjolf’s motives. Keep them at bay at least until I can infiltrate the Brotherhood.”_

_“The Brotherhood?! Contacting them will be dangerous seeing as you are a contract.” Mirileth just laughed at that._

_“They have long abandoned the tenets, I need to deal with them before I make a move against Alduin. I’ll need a clear mind when I face him.” Iszalirah was amused by how such a young woman could possess such wisdom. She truly was not a woman to cross._

_“I will make my way to Riften after dark.”_

Sneaking into Riften without being detected by any of Maven’s rats had proven to be almost effortless with Iszalirah’s aid. Mirileth was glad that she had the blue-eyed thief on her side, she was proving to be a valuable asset. _Valuable asset? I’m sounding like that backstabbing bastard._ He still managed to creep into the darkened recesses of her mind, not even Ulfric could banish him from her thoughts. But Ulfric had been a mistake, sleeping with the leader of the rebellion would make her look unwise to the public if it ever became known.

Killing Grelod the Kind had been easy. Mirileth had waited in the old hag’s room for her to appear and then had swiftly taken her out with a dagger to the throat. However, on her way out a guard had seen her leave. Iszalirah would have to deal with that later. She had to make it to Windhelm to inform the Aretino boy of her success and then on to High Hrothgar for the Peace Council. The thought of politics made Mirileth feel exhausted, but it was something that was her obligation as Dragonborn, so she would have to deal with it.

Mirileth found herself on the balcony of Honeyside, gazing out at Lake Honrich, where Brynjolf had once saved her life. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she clutched the railings to steady herself as her body began to shake. _What did I do for him to hate me so much?_ Now with the absence of her beast-blood, Mirileth’s lack of rage was overcome with sorrow and self-pity. She felt herself breaking down when a familiar voice caused her to whip her head round to face the person.

“He still loves you, Mirileth. This is killing him.” Karliah stood behind Mirileth, wearing her Nightingale armour but with her hood lowered. Her face was full of concern and her violet eyes bore into Mirileth’s green ones.

“Then why is he doing this to me?” It was the question that had been haunting her for so long.

“Because openly defying Maven now that she holds so much power here would be a death sentence for the Guild. You know that.” Karliah placed her hand on the Breton’s shoulder as she spoke. “I heard you were conducting a Peace Council with the Greybeards. If you make sure that Riften does not fall into the hands of the Empire, the Stormcloaks should be enough to losen Maven’s hold on this city, and Brynjolf.” Mirileth looked up at the mysterious Dark Elf, her purple eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

“I can do better than that. I can destroy her.”

 

Two nights after her encounter with Karliah, as Mirileth lay beneath the Jarl of Windhelm as he made love to her, a dangerous smirk pulled at the Dragonborn’s lips. The feel of Ulfric’s heavy breaths upon her collarbone made her whimper slightly, breaking her previous train of thought. _I need to bring down the entire Black-Briar clan, what better way than putting one of their enemies on the throne?_ She felt Ulfric’s release inside her and he toppled to her side, pulling her against his chest. Her mind flashed back to the first night that Brynjolf and she had spent together, the way she had curled up to his side. _Get out of my head, thief!._

“You seem leagues away, Dragonborn.” The jarl’s deep voice thankfully cut through her inner turmoil.

“I’m sorry, I ju-“ Ulfric’s fingers traced her lips, and he cut her off.

“Do not apologise. I understand you must have a lot on your mind given the circumstances.” He spoke into her ear, sending shivers down her spine, he felt it and chuckled. “I have grown rather fond of you.” He said as his laughter died down. Mirileth looked into his eyes, for a brief moment wishing that she could just stay with him, like this and never leave. But it was only for a moment.

“Ulfric, after I defeat Alduin and the treaty expires, let me fight for your cause.” She surprised herself with the softness in her tone. Ulfric’s mouth twisted into a grin and he pulled her closer to him.

“I look forward to the day that we take Solitude, together.” He muttered into her silver waves of hair.

 

_Brynjolf burst through the door of Honeyside and scooped Miri up in his arms, ignoring her protests. He’d been gone for a month on a job in Markarth, a city which Mirileth although, adoring it’s architecture, had no love for. Brynjolf threw her down on the bed and climbed over her. He looked down at the young woman with a longing gaze. Her silver hair was pulled back into a loose messy braid and there was a shallow cut on her cheek. It wasn’t her beauty that made him smile, it was the way she had giggled when he climbed on top of her. She rarely laughed, but when she did it was the most intoxicating sight he had ever experienced._

_“You’ve bewitched me, lass.” His voice was music to her ears. She grinned up at him and he leant down to brush his lips against hers. Their lips moved together and it wasn’t long before softness turned to passion and Brynjolf was biting her lower lip, demanding access to deepen the kiss. As their tongues fought, his hand roamed up her leg, lifting the thin fabric of her blue dress and exposing her toned leg. Miri’s hand wove through his red hair, suddenly grasping it and pulling his head back._

_“Bryn… don’t ever leave me behind.”_


	16. Departure

_The beast’s forest green eyes were burning holes in Brynjolf. It crept towards him, its silver fur coated with dark dried blood that was almost black in the darkness. The werewolf suddenly leapt forward and Brynjolf drove his dagger into its chest before its claws reached his body. The creature let out a deathly howl before falling to the ground, its body shaking intensely. Brynjolf stood there, unable to move and watched in horror as the beast’s form began to shift. The white fur began to disappear and its body was shrinking. In just a few moments the beast was in the form of a naked girl. Her silver hair was drenched with sweat and she lay sprawled on the ground, gazing up at him with fearful eyes. Mirileth, he thought as he finally moved towards her. There were tears streaming down from her green eyes and her hands were clutching her wound._

_Brynjolf knelt down beside her. She looked so scared and fragile like that night they had met in the tavern._ What have I done? _He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him, but she kept on trying to fight him off. Her large green eyes looked into his with utter terror; he knew then that she was scared of dying. Mirileth tried to move away from him with all the strength that she could muster, but he could see that her light was fading. A pool of deep crimson blood had formed beneath her and had stained most of her lovely silver waves red. Brynjolf could not move, he wanted to help her, to stop the bleeding. But all he could do is watch her as the life drained from her face._

He awoke with a start, damp with cold sweat. He sat up in the tattered bed in the cistern, burying his face in his hands. It had been a long time since he had last dreamt of her, in the past her beast form had often haunted his unconscious mind. He reached out to the shirt at the end of his bed and pulled it over his head, trying to banish any more thoughts of her from his plagued mind.  
His inner turmoil was quickly disrupted when the sound of hurried footsteps made him leap up to his feet.

“Brynjolf, we need to talk, it’s urgent.” Iszalirah declared upon her approach. Her icy blue eyes looked as if they had not seen much sleep, and she looked far too agitated for her usual calm demeanor. Brynjolf grabbed her by the elbow and lead her into the training room.

“What is it, lass?” He lowered his voice to hurried whisper as the Redguard looked at him impatiently.

“Riften has been handed over to the Imperials. Maven now sits on the throne.” She practically spat Maven’s name out, raising her voice more than was necessary. Brynjolf shifted uncomfortably on his feet. _We’ll never be free now._

“I suppose our Guild Master failed to hand the Rift over to her beloved Jarl.” Brynjolf scoffed, a slight look of disgust playing on his features.

“Perhaps if you weren’t so blinded by your need to kill her, you’d see that she is trying to help you, Bryn.” Anger began to boil through Iszalirah’s body. _How can he be so blind to her motives?_

“I don’t want to kill her Iszalirah, but those are the direct orders from Maven. You know very well what would happen if I were to disobey her.”

“We can’t keep living in fear of Maven! I will bring in the Cyrodiil Guild if I have to.” The two had edged closer to each other, their anger turning their gazes to steel.

“And what do thieves like us have against the Brotherhood, eh lass?” Brynjolf’s lips twisted into a sarcastic smirk. _He thinks he knows everything._

“We don’t have to worry about the Brotherhood anymore.” And with that she spat on the ground next to Brynjolf’s feet and stormed out. Leaving Brynjolf feeling cornered and confused. He needed to see Maven.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_The Halls of High Hrothgar felt cold and empty, even on the day of the Peace Council. Mirileth had to get out. She burst through the doors into the Courtyard, making a beeline for the lonely tower at the other end of the yard. She hadn’t bothered putting anything over the thin fabric of the grey formal dress she had worn to the Peace Council, but the cold was not what she felt was piercing through her skin. Mirileth climbed the steps up the tower, exhaling loudly when she finally reached the top. Arngeir was not there as he usually was, probably making sure that all of the guests left without bloodshed. She had failed, the Rift had gone to the Imperials and the smug look on General Tullius’ face made her blood boil. They all knew about her and Ulfric, she should of seen it coming, the Imperials had spies everywhere. Ulfric had deceived her as well, he changed the conditions he had promised her. He had told her that he would lay claim to the Rift, but instead had demanded Markarth because of that damned uprising twenty years ago. Now Riften was in the clutches of Maven, and Brynjolf would forever be just out of reach. The wind blew her hair out of the loose braid she had fixed earlier, she fell to her knees as she looked over the edge of the tall stone tower. In that moment she wanted it to all be over, to leave this wretched world to die. But when she thought of Lydia, of Karliah and Erik, she couldn’t bear the thought of letting them die as Uthgerd had. She reached into the shallow pocket of her dress and pulled out the note that had been delivered to her the previous day in Ivarstead._

_There was only one way to get him back now, the hard way. Mirileth would have to defeat Alduin and save the world as was expected of her, and if she didn’t die, she would bring Maven down by destroying what held her so high. The Empire. Mirielth looked down at the crumpled note, the large black hand print that stained it, and the words that accompanied it._

_“We Know.”_

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whiterun was bustling on that late morning of Turdas, it was warm day and Lydia was returning from an early morning hunt. As she entered the large battered wooden gates into the city, a little girl in a green dress ran up to her, the girl's short light brown hair bouncing about her freckled face. 

“Lydia! Did you see? The Dragon Lady caught a dragon!” Lucia’s excitement made Lydia chuckle.

“Sure she did, Lucia. I think I would know if-“ And just as Lydia was about to continue, a great roar erupted from Dragonreach, causing Lucia to whimper and grab Lydia’s rabbit-blood stained hands.

“Lucia, in the house now. I’m going to find out what’s going on.” Lydia gave Lucia a small gentle shove in the direction of Breezehome, and then proceeded to hurry through the city, towards the palace.

 

Mirileth paced across the Great Porch, trying to calm her nerves. She had to do this, and yes it scared her. But she could not let all these people die because of her own fear of death. She was about to approach the large red-scaled dragon once more when the doors to the Palace burst open and two figures charged towards her.

“Mirileth! Don’t do this!” It was Ralof, and he grabbed her arms in a vice like grip as he looked down at her with his blue, pleading eyes. Mirileth tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he was far more stronger than her, and any techniques she knew that would release her, would severely hurt him.

“My Thane…” A second voice, this time it was Lydia. Mirileth turned her gaze to meet her housecarl’s.

“Unhand me, Ralof! I must do this, it was inevitable and you’d be a fool not to know it!” She almost sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as well as her friends. Nevertheless, Ralof let go of her ebony-mail clad arms, noticing that she had switched armour again. Mirileth lowered her gaze and turned away from them, slowly walking towards the dragon that appeared to be observing the situation.

“There’s a girl, Mirileth.” Mirileth looked back, surprised that Lydia had not used her title as she usually did. “There’s a girl, her name’s Lucia. I took her in whilst you were gone, and she ask about you all the time.” Mirileth’s brows furrowed at Lydia’s words, and even the housecarl looked unsure of her own words, but then her eyes flashed a certain determination and she took a step forwards. “I want you to come back, come back so that you can tell her yourself.” Tears were forming in Lydia’s eyes and her fists were clenched, it was unusual for the housecarl to loose control of her nonchalant self. Mirileth smiled weakly at her and nodded, before doing the same to Ralof, who looked defeated. The Dragonborn walked with determination to Odahviing and drew Chillrend.

“So, how are we going to do this?”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Weeks had passed since the Dragonborn departed for Sovngarde on the back of the red scaled dragon, Odahviing. And not a word had been heard. It was only when one evening, during the twilight of the day, that most of Skyrim heard the roars from the Throat of the World.

A group of darkly cloaked figures were trekking through the snowy canyon below High Hrothgar when the roars started. The leader looked up to see tens, no, hundreds of dragons circling above the mountain, their sounds deafening. The man lowered his cloak, revealing his slick raven-black hair and deep red eyes. When he spoke to the others, his voice sounded hoarse and a sinister smile crept on his lips.

“It’s time. We must wake her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story is about 2-4 chapters from its end, and as a warning, a lot is going to happen so I may not be posting as frequently seeing as the chapters are most likely going to be very long. But at least Serana will finally be introduced to the story. Thank you for reading!


	17. From Riches to Rags

Winterhold was a cold and unforgiving hold. The only beacon of sophisticated civilisation that remained was the College. In the months after the defeat of Alduin, strange happenings began to surface in the small community of the northern hold. Dragons evaded the area in definite contrast to other holds who were still suffering from rogue dragon attacks. The small town had recently come under siege from strange magical anomalies that the College refused to take responsibility for, and after all that, a large explosion occurred from within the College, forcing many villagers to take shelter in the nearby iron mine.   
A formal request had been made from Jarl Korir to Whiterun to send the Dragonborn to investigate the College but Jarl Balgruuf had sent back word of the Dragonborn’s current absence from the public eye. Many assumed her dead at the hands of the World-Eater, or trapped forever in Sovngarde. It was in the midst of First Seed, that the townspeople started to take not of the mysterious visitors that would pass through the town on their way to the College. The uncertainty of the people created a tension within the town that was only broken when the Blades arrived.

Erik and Marcurio had been travelling for nearly two weeks. It was a long and dangerous trek from the Reach to Winterhold, and they were going to make sure that the meeting would be worth it. They once again, had left the temple without Delphine or Esbern knowing of their destination. Lately the pair had been so devastated by the Emperor’s assassination that all they did was talk about the days that the Blades protected the Royal line, all Marcurio had said was that they were off to “deal with some dragons” and that had been it, no questions asked. Erik had been distracted for the entirety of the journey, and it had not gone unnoticed by Marcurio. When the two reached the Inn in Winterhold, the young Imperial decided to inquire of his friend’s recent attitude.

“This better not be about that woman.” Marcurio stated loudly as they tied their horses to the posts outside the inn. Erik looked at his friend blankly, then shook his head.

“I haven’t seen her in over a year now, I can’t help but feel… nervous.” Erik’s words made Marcurio snort.

“Nervous?! You’ve gone up against dragons for Mara’s sake and the mere thought of speaking to a woman turns your knees to jelly? Uthgerd would of loved this…” And then there was silence that felt like it lasted for a lifetime, until their unspoken grief was interrupted.

“A delivery for you!” A courier breathlessly announced as he appeared in front of the two men, poor fellow looked like he’d just seen a ghost. It wasn’t until Erik retrieved the letter from him, that the two Blades understood why. The all too familiar black-hand seal made Erik’s face crunch up in disgust as he opened unrolled the parchment. Erik nodded to Marcurio, who tipped the rather pale courier and sent the young lad on his way. Erik despised being forced to work with such criminals, but this stretched far beyond his or Marcurio’s powers. The young Nord lowered his gaze to read the eerie message which had been left for them.

_The College of Winterhold. Noon. I have enclosed the key to the Arch-Mage’s Quarters.  
All negotiations shall take place there._

_-N_

Erik handed the note to Marcurio, his dark eyes skimmed over the words. The Imperial let out a low grunt of contempt before crumpling up the note and stuffing it into the pouch which hung from his well-worn leather belt. The two friends then made their way through the town towards the ginormous structure of the College.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ulfric sat upon his throne, awaiting some form of news  to indicate where this rebellion was headed. He despised being kept in the dark, but somehow Mirileth had managed it. He observed his guards as they went about their daily schedules, some just standing guard for hours on end. He shifted slightly as the palace doors opened and a large bulky figure of a man stormed in, pacing towards him.

“I have good news and bad news, and I’m going to start with the good.” Galmar roared as he finally reached Ulfric. The Jarl tilted his head slightly, indicating that Galmar should go on. “The over-grown lizards have been defeated.” A brief smirk crossed Galmar’s ageing features, but it soon vanished and was replaced with a look of uncertainty as he awaited the Jarl’s response.

“Then we may finally lay claim to Whiterun. I see that Balgruuf has returned the axe.” Ulfric did not bother to mask the disappointment of Balgruuf’s decision; he had hoped to avoid more bloodshed.

“Yes, the damned traitor. But Ulfric… the Dragonborn has not been seen since the defeat of Alduin, she is presumed dead.” Galmar searched Ulfric’s face for some form of reaction and he thought he saw the Jarl’s eyes darken a little, but when he spoke he remained nonchalant.

“Rally the troops, you will march on Whiterun at dawn.” Ulfric rose from the throne and stalked off to the strategy room, leaving Galmar to wonder what was going in his old friend’s mind. He perhaps would of pressured Ulfric more to talk to him if the excitement of running to battle had not overcome him in that moment. _Time to spill some Imperial blood._ Galmar stormed off to the barracks to inform his troops of the latest plan.

Hours passed and Ulfric remained in the strategy room, leaning over the map on the table that dominated the entire room. He thought that he had done relatively well, not showing any form of emotion in front of Galmar. However, his hands were now balled up into fists and it was taking everything in his power for him not to throw the damned table against the wall. He had never been able to quite explain the reason why he felt so drawn to Mirileth, even before he knew what she was, he had always desired her.  He had not been able to admit even to his most trusted friend, Galmar that when Mirileth had spent the night with him and swiftly disappeared at first light, it had felt like a knife twisting in his chest. _And I should have foreseen that that night would be our last together._  
Ulfric’s silent grief was interrupted by the sound of commotion coming from the throne room. The Jarl raised his head, his dark golden brows furrowing in confusion. _By the nine, what’s Galmar done this time._ Ulfric charged out of the strategy room, a look of murderous intent plastered on his face. The sight that met him was not that of Galmar up to his usual brawling antics, but that of two guards hauling in a hooded woman, wearing an armour that was all too familiar. Ulfric reached his throne and sat down, signalling to the guards to drag her over.

“Thief. Your Guild is not welcome here.” Ulfric stated, he remembered that Mirileth used to be associated with them, perhaps this woman would know of her whereabouts.

“My Guild is not welcome anywhere, my lord.” Her voice was laced with an accent that Ulfric could not place. He nodded to one of the guards, indicating that he should remove her hood. The woman was a Redguard, with beautiful dark skin and long waves of raven black hair. Her eyes shone a pale icy blue that contrasted to the rest of her features. Ulfric  found himself briefly speechless to her beauty.

“Guards, where did you find this woman?” He inquired, suddenly curious about the young woman’s case. He chose to ignore the look of disgust in her cold eyes as she looked up at him.

“We found her snooping around the Palace, my Jarl. We think she may have been eavesdropping on your General.” The guard spoke nervously, evidently aware that he was accusing her of treason.

“Is this true, thief? Are you an Imperial spy as well?” Ulfric’s mouth twisted into an amused smirk when she growled at one of the guards who had a grip on her arm.

“You rebels assume everyone who is not a Nord to be a spy. You only care for yourselves. No I am not an Imperial spy, but yes I was looking for intel on the war.” Her bluntness took Ulfric by surprise. _If she is not with the Imperials, than who?_

“Tell me who you work for, and I might just spare your life.” Ulfric’s tone had grown more sinister, and he was running out of patience.

“I work for the only person who truly cares for the people of Tamriel. Regardless of their race.” The woman spat out the last line, while she glared up at the would-be King. Things weren’t exactly going according to plan. Thrynn had meant to be keeping watch whilst she snuck into the barracks, but he had clearly left her to deal with this mess. Ulfric’s eyes widened ever so slightly at her statement as he started to put the pieces together.

“So she lives after all. I never thought that she was one for political affairs.”  He felt his hands clench into fists as he tried to maintain his temper.

“You plan to march on Whiterun, she is the Thane of Whiterun. It is in her interests to intervene if necessary.” This made Ulfric laugh, he was mocking her and Iszalirah was beginning to despise the man for it.

“Well then, we must make sure that my plans never reach her. Guards, take her down to the dungeons.” Iszalirah let out a cry of disdain and tried in vain to fight off the guards, her shackled fist landing a punch to one of the guards helmets, knocking it straight off his head. The two guards dragged her off as she kicked and screamed. The Jarl exhaled loudly. _Of course she’s still alive, and still very much a thorn in my side._  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ride back to Riften had been an exhausting one for Thrynn. He knew that leaving Iszalirah behind was a bad move, but wasn’t going to risk being thrown into jail again. She was an intelligent woman, she’d figure things out, was what he kept on telling himself. Someone was going to have to find Mirileth and inform her of the Whiterun issue, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to make the long ride up North to do so. There was only one person left in the Guild who held a high enough status to gain access to the Dragonborn now, and getting him to cooperate was going to be an issue, seeing as Maven had him thrown behind bars. Thrynn stuck to the shadows and made his way through the dark alleys of Riften to the dungeons. All he had to do was show the guards his armour and they let him through to the cells.   
The man he saw behind the bars he barely recognised. His auburn hair had grown to just pass his shoulders, his beard had clearly not been trimmed in a couple of months and he wore the rags of a prisoner. _He is a prisoner_.

“Brynjolf?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for not posting for a while, but I needed to think out the plot more carefully and I had a lot on my hands. Anyways, enjoy and the next one should be posted within the week!


	18. Serana

“Brynjolf?”  Thrynn’s voice echoed through the dungeon. Brynjolf raised his head and his emerald eyes bore into Thrynn’s brown ones. The man that stood behind those bars, was clearly nothing but a shell of the man that the Guild had once looked up to.

“Have you come here to mock me lad?” His heavily accented voice was hoarse and weak. If Thrynn had not known what Brynjolf had tried to do to Mirileth, he might have even pitied him.

“I’ve come to offer you a deal, Bryn.” Thrynn folded his arms as he looked at the older thief from outside his cage. Brynjolf walked towards the bars so that he was as close to Thrynn as possible.

“And what deal would that be?” He didn’t even look remotely interested and his voice lacked any form of emotion. _What the hell did Maven do to him?_ Thrynn tilted his head as he tried to figure Brynjolf out.

“Cynric can break you out, but we need you to warn Mirileth of the Stormcloak’s plans to march on Whiterun, and fast.” As soon as Thrynn spoke, Brynjolf laughed and it was dark and sinister. The auburn haired man shook his head lightly as he laughed.

“You really want to send _me_ after Mirileth? You forget lad, that she’s the reason why I’m locked up in here.” This time it was Thrynn’s turn to chuckle, he found it hard to believe that Brynjolf was still in denial of his evident affections for Miri.

“No. You’re in here because you disobeyed Maven by not killing Mirileth. You’re in here because you love that damned girl.” Thrynn knew that he’d struck a nerve when Brynjolf let out a low growl and grasped onto the prison cell bars. “There’s still pieces of the man you used to be left in you Bryn. This is your opportunity to redeem yourself in the guild’s eyes and work things out with Miri. You won’t get another chance.”

“Where’s Iszalirah? Isn’t this kind of thing usually her job?” Brynjolf was an intelligent man, Thrynn knew that, and he was starting to catch on. Thrynn unfolded his arms and walked towards the bars of the cell.

“She’s been captured by Ulfric, sending Cynric in to break her out would be too dangerous. You’re the only person with a high enough status to be allowed into the Council.” Thrynn knew that this would only spark more questions from the other thief but he was prepared.

“What in Shor’s name is the Council? Have you all lost your minds whilst I’ve been in here? Thieves and politics has never been a good bloody idea lad.” Brynjolf’s condescending tone was making Thrynn want to just leave him there, but he knew that this wasn’t the Bryn he had considered his friend.

“The Council is the organisation that builds bridges between the Guilds, I suppose you can guess who’s in charge of it. In three days’ time there is going to be a meeting held at the College of Winterhold, we need you to infiltrate it and inform them of Ulfric’s plans.”  Thrynn folded his arms again over his leather clad chest and looked Brynjolf dead in the eye.

“If I do this, can you guarantee that I won’t be thrown back in here as soon as I step foot back in Riften?” Brynjolf inquired as he ran a hand through his messy hair.

“We can’t guarantee you safety from Maven until Mirileth succeeds in bringing her down. She has the power to, but if you do this you will have redeemed yourself in the Guild’s eyes. We need you back Brynjolf.”

Brynjolf lowered his head and exhaled deeply. “I don’t really have a choice, do I lad?”

~~~~~~~~

Marcurio and Erik walked across the bridge that led to the College in silence; they were following a High Elf with golden pigtails to the gates. Marcurio would never admit it, but he wasn’t particularly looking forward to the Council meeting. It was the first meeting that would have representatives of the Blades, and he knew that convincing Mirileth to fulfil her end of the bargain would be difficult.   
As they entered the large courtyard of the College, Marcurio could sense eyes on them. The Imperial glanced around, his gaze catching on a pair of glowing crimson eyes belonging to a young girl. Marcurio felt his blood chill as the girl continued to glare at him; she was half hiding behind one of the tall grey stone columns. The Imperial felt a sudden nudge to his side and whirled round, nearly hitting Erik in the face with his elbow.

“Jumpy, are we?” Erik’s mocking tone quickly disappeared when he too, saw the little girl by the column. “That’s one of the assassins, best we steer clear of them.” Erik grabbed Marcurio’s arm and half dragged him to the doors of the College. They needed to get this over and done with.

The two men walked into the Hall of The Elements and felt their jaws drop. Erik had never expected such grandeur from a bunch of recluse mages so far North. Marcurio had trained at the Arcane University in Cyrodiil and had never actually set foot inside the College of Winterhold, even though it was one of his main reasons for venturing to Skyrim in the first place. However, they both knew that there was no time for gawking so they took a moment to determine which of the doors led to the Arch-Mage’s chambers, and swiftly made their way up the stairs.

~~~~~~~

_Mirileth’s decent from the Throat of The World to High Hrothgar had been a journey of which she did not wish to endure again. Her entire body ached, and the wounds which Alduin had left her with would not stop bleeding. As soon as she had entered the Courtyard she collapsed next to the bonfire and found herself looking up at the starry sky, at the dragons who were still flying over the mountain. It was a beautiful sight, and it almost distracted her from the immense pain of her wounds. She felt herself laughing, she’d finally done it. It was over. Her pain was fading as she continued to laugh at the heavens, her back on the cold rough stone of the courtyard. Her ebony armour was ruined, for the fine armour it was it did not take well to dragon claws or teeth. Mirileth’s head began to spin as the pain returned with a vengeance and she cried out as she heard footsteps approaching. Arngeir’s hooded face was the last thing she saw before the darkness took her._

_The Dragonborn awoke three days later in one of the rough wooden cots in the monastery. Although her body still ached, the pain had reasonably subsided and that was more than enough for her. It only took her a moment to realise that she was not alone._

_“Dragonborn, you are awake. Bolli laid out some clothes for you, when you are dressed please meet me in the main hall.” Arngeir’s voice was music to her ears, she would never openly admit it, but she had felt an attachment to the Greybeards from the moment she had heard their call on her way back to Whiterun._

_“Of course… Arngeir?” Her voice startled him; Arngeir had not expected her to be able to speak with the amount of healing potions they had forced down her throat._

_“Yes, Dragonborn?”_

_“Is it done?” Arngeir turned to look into her pale green eyes that were now claimed by dark circles induced by the intencity of the pain she had felt. Her silver hair had fallen out of the loose bun it had been held in and fell in small knots and waves well passed her shoulders. And somehow, Arngeir could still see shards of the young girl who had entered their monastery those years ago._

_“It is done.”_

_It took Miri a while to dress seeing as she had to avoid tearing the stitches of the wounds across her stomach and legs. The clothes that Bolli had left were a simple pair of cloth trousers and a grey cotton tunic, along with a well-worn pair of boots that were a couple of sizes too big for her.  
As soon as she entered the main hall she became aware that there was an Orc man standing by the entrances who most certainly not a Greybeard._

_“Mirileth, this is Durak. He has made a very long journey to come and see you.” Mirileth could hear the irriation in Arngeir’s voice. Clearly they did not appreciate him being there._

_“I am a member of the Dawnguard. We’re vampire hunters who wish to rid Skyrim of the vampire menace.” As Durak spoke, visions of that night in Whiterun when she had saved Brynjolf from the crimson-eyed monsters in her beast form flashed in her mind, making her wince._

_“What… what does this have to do with me?” She clenched her fists as she stuttered, willing her mind to forget that night, to forget the damned thief._

_Durak took a step towards Mirileth; she was clearly not in a right state of mind. “Our leader, Isran has sent me to request that you assist our order.” The Orc eyed her cautiously. He had heard many tales of the Dragonborn, and he had not expected a girl barely out of her teens to be the legendary hero of Old._

_“Forgive me, but I have only just returned from saving Tamriel once, and you ask me to pick up my weapons and head straight back to battle?” Durak noted that she spoke wisely for her young age, most likely a cause of spending time in training with the Masters of the Voice._

_“Skyrim is in danger, in your absence; three of our major cities have been attacked by Vampires. We must protect the people.” The Orc was passionate about his cause, Mirileth admired that. She ran a hand through her knotted hair and inhaled loudly. She couldn’t let the people she had just saved to be slaughtered by another evil, it would have just made her role pointless._

_And it was that thought that led her to Dimhollow Crypt almost two weeks later. She would not let a bunch of blood sucking necromancers take over her people. Mirileth had called for a meeting of the Guilds when she returned, to create a force that not even the High King would be able to rule over. They would do what the Empire and the Stormcloaks were failing to do. Protect Skyrim. If that meant that Assasins, thieves, mages and warriors would have to work together, then so be it._

_Mirileth tore her way through Dimhollow Crypt, her bound swords impaling and cutting through every vampire and death hound that stood in her way. Her wounds from Alduin slowed her down, but the vampires were still no match for her. It wasn’t long until she came across a huge dark cavern where the vampires were holding a Vigilant of Stendarr hostage. Mirileth did as Karliah had once taught her and stuck to the shadows, the vampires never saw her coming. She took out their leader, Lokil first with an arrow to the throat; the other two were easy enough with an arrow each to the head. She arrived too late for the Vigilant who lay motionless on the ground and Mirileth cursed herself for not being fast enough. She decided not to waste time mourning a man she’d never known and proceeded to move on. She came across a strange structure with a pedestal in the middle. She walked over to the pedestal and placed her hand on it, trying to determine whether it was some sort of switch. A blade shot out from the pedestal, piercing her gloved hand. Miri jumped back in shock and pain, not even having the time to cry out as a purple mist barrier surrounded her._ It’s damned puzzle. _It took her a few minutes of moving pedestals and choking on the purple mist for her to figure the puzzle out. When she did, the stone ground beneath her began to shake and the original pedestal began to rise. Mirileth drew her bow, preparing for the worst._

_The pedestal rose and revealed something that looked like a giant upright stone tomb. Miri felt her arms begin to shake as the sides of the tomb began to fall, revealing what was inside. Mirileth had expected some form of vampire lord or werewolf, but to her immense shock a young woman fell out of the tomb. Miri quickly lowered her bow and rushed to her, cautiously helping the woman to her feet. The woman possessed great beauty and Mirileth found herself staring at her almost perfect pale complexion and her jet black her that fell to her shoulders._

_“Who in Dibella’s name, are you?”_

~~~~~~~

The Dragonborn stood before the breathtakingly beautiful garden of the Arch-Mage’s quarters, impatiently awaiting the arrival of the rest of her guests. She had decided to not wear her armour, and instead wore a plain ivory silk shift that she had “borrowed” from a noble’s house in Solitude.  She heard the doors behind her opening and turned to find Marcurio and Erik striding towards her.

“Erik! Marcurio! I am glad that you made it here today.” Her smile was warm and genuine, she had missed her friends dearly. Erik rushed up to her and hugged her tightly, roughing up her silver hair in the process and making Mirileth chuckle. Marcurio laughed at his two friends and glanced around the vast room anxiously. He didn’t know quite what to expect. He saw a Redguard man sitting in a corner with a bottle of wine in his hand, eyeing them with an eerie look. Marcurio gulped.

“So, erm… when do we begin?” Marcurio inquired, shifting awkwardly. Mirileth moved away from Erik and signalled to the Redguard man to approach.

“Nazir, where is Babette?” Mirileth asked the tall man as he approached them. When he spoke, his voice was deep and intimidating.

“She’s in the courtyard, most likely spying on your arriving guests.” There was a sinister glimmer in Nazir’s eyes that told Erik and Marcurio exactly which Guild he was a member of. _Those damned assasins._ They heard the doors creak behind them and they all turned to see a tall broad Nord man approaching them.

“I hope I’m not late.” Vilkas’ voice boomed through the quarters. He stopped for a moment when he saw Nazir, and his distaste for the assassin became quite evident to the rest of the group.

“Well then I suppose we’ll have to begin, I was hoping that a representative for the thieves would show but clearly my trust in her was misplaced.” Mirileth’s mention of Iszalirah made Erik clench his jaw. _She’s not coming?!_  “We all must rely on each other to keep the evil in Skyrim at bay.”

“The evil in Skyrim is standing right here.” Vilkas muttered, his gaze set on Nazir, who just laughed.

“You have to admire this dog’s spirit.” Nazri mocked and the two stopped glaring at each other when Mirileth growled at them.

“As your superior, if you all don’t play nicely I will personally drag you to Oblivion. Understood?” Erik hadn’t heard Mirileth ever sound so menacing; the Brotherhood had clearly taught her a few things. Vilkas folded his arms and turned his head away from Nazir, who just looked at Mirileth with a look of admiration. “Before you bombard me with your own requests, I’ll give you my orders.”

Erik shifted on his feet, not looking forward to making his request. _Damn Delphine and Esbern!_ Marcurio caught his eye and gave him a reassuring look.

“Blades and Companions must shift their focus to fighting the vampires. I have seen first hand what they are capable of, so be prepared for the worst.” She paused as everyone nodded. “I need the Brotherhood and the thieves to obtain information on both sides of the Civil War.” This caused Nazir to raise a thick dark eyebrow at the Breton.

“We’re assassins, not spies. How do you propose we do that?”

“I know for a fact that since this war started most of the contracts received from the Night Mother have been related to either the Imperials or the Stormcloaks. What I ask is that whenever your contract is a soldier, extract as much information as possible before fulfilling the mission. Understood?” She heard Vilkas let out a low growl at her orders. She didn’t want him to think less of her but she had to do whatever was necessary to end the war. Nazir nodded and retreated back into the shadows of the room.

“Now is the time for your own requests.” Mirileth realised that she sounded exhausted, but the mere thought of adventuring again made her want to sleep.

“We have one request on behalf of Delphine.”  Mirileth raised her gaze to meet Marcurio’s, who was looking at her with a look of uncertainty. _This isn’t going to go well._

“You must kill Parthurnaax.” Erik said, lowering his head.

~~~~~~~~~

Brynjolf clung to the shadows of the Arch-Mage’s Quarters. He hated sneaking, and it had never been his strong point, but it had gotten him this far. He had heard the order that Mirileth had given out to the Guild members, and the sound of her voice was making his heart pound against his chest. It was deeper than he remembered and she sounded wiser and _older._ He had also heard her send everyone away after one of the men asked her to kill someone. _It must of struck a nerve in the lass._ Brynjolf had to move further into the shadows when she passed him to go up the stairwell onto the roof of the College. He thanked all the nine divines that she hadn’t seen him.

But someone else had.

Brynjolf yelped when he felt a dagger at his throat and reached out and grabbed the hand that was holding it. He looked to his side to see a pair of glowing crimson eyes. The eyes belonged to a pale skinned woman with the darkest hair he’d ever seen, and she was glaring at him with murderous intent.

“Who are you?” Her tone sounded as murderous as her eyes looked. Brynjolf gripped her hand more tightly to stop her from cutting him.

“I’m an old friend of Mirileth’s. I’ve come to warn her…if you don’t mind, lass.” He managed to slowly lower the dagger from his neck but something told him that she wouldn’t need a dagger to kill him. To his surprise she stepped away from him and sheathed her dagger, although her eyes never left his.

“She told me about you, you know. There’s no need in me harming you, she’ll do that herself.” The woman started to walk away from him.

“Wait. Who are you?” His curiosity got the best of him and he took a step into the light of the room. The woman smirked at him and turned away.

“Serana, not your average vampire.” And with that, she stalked off leaving Brynjolf to mentally prepare himself to face Mirileth once more. And what in Oblivion was a vampire doing in her company? Brynjolf made his way up the stairwell but paused when he reached the doors to the roof.

_He watched her from afar as she shot an impressive amount of arrows into one of the training dummies in the Cistern. She held the bow with the confidence of a thoroughly trained archer, her arrows never missed their mark. He smiled at the way she hadn’t bothered to tie her long ashen hair back and was having to shove it off her face every few minutes. But Maven’s words echoed through his mind:_

_“She’s dangerous Brynjolf, and you’re a fool to not see it. There’s a hunger that swells in her when she kills, you’ve seen it. You let your lust blind you to her true nature. She was born to kill, and nothing will change that.”_

_Miri must have sensed him watching her, because she looked over at him as she lowered her bow. It was hard to believe how a woman so young could be capable of everything she had done. Part of him wanted her to be gone, so that he and the Guild could move on, but a larger part of him wanted to run to her and warn her of what Maven planned. But as she walked over to him, the words became stuck at the back of his throat, unwilling to emerge. How do you tell the woman you love that part of you wishes her dead?_

_“See something you like?” Her bluntness caught him off guard and she grinned up at him, it wasn’t often that he saw her smile and he felt his chest tighten. Miri stepped towards him, she was close enough op that if he leant down just a bit, their lips would touch. His hand found it’s way to her waist and her hands wound up on his chest. She smelt of mountain flowers and nightshade and Brynjolf had to turn his head away to stop himself from kissing her. Mirileth looked hurt and pulled away._

_“Bryn-“_

_“I’m sorry lass, I’ve got important things to do.” And hemoved away, pulling his hood up as he walked away from her as she stood there looking confused._

_“Are you tired of me?” He stopped as he heard her words and turned to look at her. She was looking at him with her large green eyes and it was in moments like these, that Brynjolf could still see the girl he spared in Bruma in her._

_“Never.” He whispered it, and perhaps she didn’t hear him because when he turned away and walked off, she didn’t try to stop him._

The thief finally reached to the handle of the door and pushed, the cold air of Winterhold hitting him in the face. He saw her as soon as he stepped out onto the roof, she was facing away from him, her silk dress blowing in the harsh winter wind. She must of heard the door close, because she immediately whirled round to face him.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He felt more like he was approaching a wild animal than a woman. _Some things never change._ Mirileth’s eyes were wide and glaring at him, as if she couldn’t quite believe it was him.

“why… why are you here, Brynjolf?” Mirileth clenched her fists. _How did he get here?_ Brynjolf was standing right there, in front of her. He looked a little older, his auburn hair was now a little past his shoulders and his beard had grown a little and she could still see the scar she had given him in Whiterun under the stubble. She wanted to go to him, to trace her fingers over the scar, to say that she was sorry. But he didn’t deserve her apology. _Mirileth, he tried to have you killed._

“Iszalriah sent me to warn you, about Ulfric.” He paused to wait for her reaction, but she just stood there, staring at him. Brynjolf took a step towards her but she backed away, getting dangerously close to the edge. “Lass, be careful. Ulfric’s men are marching on Whiterun as we speak.” Mirileth looked up at him, her eyes full of confusion. _Lydia. Lucia. They’re going to be right in the middle of it_

“What? Since when have you cared for politics _?”_ None of this was making sense and Miri felt her head being spin. Brynjolf must of seen her imbalance and before she could stumble, he grabbed her by the waist, pinning her to him. She tried to fight him at first, but she knew that her willpower always faded in his presence.

“I care, when it involves you lass.” Perhaps if she had been able to forget his conspiracy to end her life, she might have believed him. She felt his strong arms around her, and the warmth of his body against hers which made her heart race. Worst of all, she knew that he could feel it. She lifted her head to find his face inches from hers and for a brief moment, she thought that she was going to kiss him. Instead she lifted her knee and kicked him in the shin, sending the thief whirling back.

“I need to leave for Whiterun immediately. You’re coming with me.”

 

~~~~~~~~

Lucia ran through the streets of Whiterun and made her way up to Dragonsreach, eager to show Frothar what was inside the bloodied sack she was dragging along with her. It was her twelfth birthday and she had spent the entire morning out hunting with Lydia, who had finally taught her the basics of archery so that she could hunt with her. Lydia had even let her use one of Mirileth’s old hunting bows that she had left in Breezehome, but Frothar and the other children hadn’t believed her when she’d said that she knew how to use it. This would show them. When she finally reached the palace, she was startled by the amount of Imperial Legion soldiers there were, she’d never seen that many clustered together before. But no army could stop the little girl from proving her friends wrong, and she marched on to the doors of Dragonsreach.

“Where do you think you’re going with that?” One of the soldiers stepped in her way, it was a tall Nord lady with a deep voice.

“It’s a gift for the Jarl, I made a promise to his so-“ Lucia was cut off when a deafening crash echoed from the Plains District, followed by haunting screams. Lucia whirled round to see the marketplace was on fire. The girl screamed and the Nord soldier quickly pushed her aside.

“Get inside the palace young one, and stay there!” Her voice rang through Lucia’s ears and the girl dropped the dripping bag of dead pheasants. She felt frozen as she watched her city be engulfed by smoke and flames. _They’re here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, me again. Like I said in an earlier chapter, this fic is nearing it's end *sad face* but I plan on writing a sequel which will have a different main POV character, so just FYI that may be a thing.


	19. The Battle of Whiterun

 Lucia crashed through the doors of Dragonsreach and fell to her knees as soon as the guards shut the large wooden doors behind her. She tried to cover her ears with her hands to block out the screams echoing from the Plains District. Hot tears began to sting her eyes as panic welled inside her belly, and then suddenly a hand grabbed her shoulder and she was being pulled to her feet.

“Come on you idiot, we have move!” Frothar was screaming at her and dragging her to the palace kitchens. All Lucia could do was will her legs to move at his pace so that his grip on her arm wouldn’t hurt so much. When they reached the stairs in the kitchen that led down to the servants quarters, Frothar had to throw a panicked Lucia over his shoulder as they stumbled down the stairs and through the thin wooden doors.

The two had barely made it into the servant’s quarters when a small cooking pot came flying at Frothar’s face, grazing the side of his head and crashing to the wall behind them. Frothar let out an angry cry and dropped Lucia on the floor with an awkward thump.

“Dagny, what in Oblivion do you think you’re doing?!”  Frothar yelled at the stunned Dagny who was standing shaking before them. Dagny raised her palms in apology before looking at Lucia with contempt.

“Sorr- What is _she_ doing here?! She’s from the Plains District!” Lucia had forgotten what a spoiled brat Dagny could be, and she had no tolerance for it. Lucia managed to get on her feet but found herself trembling.

“Shut up Dagny!” Nelkir’s voice came from the other side of the room. The boy had stuck to the shadows in the corner of the room, probably in case Frothar and Lucia had been Stormcloaks. Dagny spun around to face him, a scowl twisting her pretty face.

“I-I… have to go. The others are still out there… in the Plains.” Lucia wanted to kick herself at the way her voice trembled.

“Lucia, you can’t go out there! You’ll be killed and you know it.” Frothar had grabbed her arm but Lucia shook his hand off her and started to walk towards the back door that led up to the palace quarters. Before her hand reached out to the door handle, Nelkir put his hand on her shoulder.

“Wait. There are weapons in a chest in Father’s room. Frothar told us that you know how to use a bow, it might come in handy or something.” Lucia didn’t turn to look at him, or Frothar, or Dagny. Because if she had, she knew that they would’ve seen how truly terrified she was. So she just giggled instead.

“Frothar talks to you about me?” She giggled as her shaking hand gripped the handle of the door. She could hear the tall dark haired boy at the other end of the room scratch his head, and she knew that he was blushing.

“Shut up! And for Shor’s sake, don’t get yourself killed.” Frothar said as he turned to shut the door that they had burst through moments before. Lucia just nodded and hurried up the steps to the palace quarters. It would be a very long time before she saw the three royal children again.

 

~~~~~~~~

The Divines had not been kind to Iszalirah. For her fate appeared to be to rot in the damp and unforgiving dungeon of the Palace of the Kings until Ulfric decided that there was no more information to be extracted from her. Then he would have her killed. Iszalirah knew how these things worked, she had lost many thieves to this kind of fate. As she lay in rags in a pile of damp hay in her small cell, she wondered if Thrynn had gotten to the Guild in time, or if he had gone back at all. It was vital that Mirileth got to Whiterun in time, otherwise her housecarl and her ward would most definitely be captured and be used as leverage to get Mirileth to fight for the Stormcloaks. Iszalirah did not want such an occurrence to push Miri over the edge; she had noticed that the Dragonborn was already growing unstable thanks to a broken heart that she doubted could be mended.   
The sound of many footsteps made Iszalirah sit up on the hay, perhaps her time had come.

“Not this again, remember the last time he ordered a prisoner to dinner? She ended up being the bloody Dragonborn.” A guard’s voice echoed through the dungeon, becoming louder as he drew closer.  Iszalirah got up and backed up against the wall of her cell. _This isn’t good._

“He probably just liked the look of this one, I mean have you _seen_ her?!” A second voice said and Iszalirah felt panic begin to swell in her belly and rise up to her throat. The light of the guard’s torch was almost blinding to the Redguard, who raised her arm to shield her eyes as one of the guards opened the door to her cell.

“The Jarl has summoned you to the Great Hall, put this on.” The guard with the torch chucked a bundle of navy blue fabric at her, and she caught it just before it would have hit her straight in the face. She unfolded the dress, and even in the dim light she could see how sheer the silky fabric was and she nearly growled. _He should know better than to attempt to ridicule me like this._

“Well hurry up then, _whore_ ”  The guard who had unlocked her cell mocked, eyeing her from head to toe. Iszalirah had to restrain herself from groaning in disgust, so instead she laughed.

“Are you really going to make a lady remove her clothes in front of you? Can I at least maintain some form of dignity?” She didn’t really know why she was bothering, she already knew what their answer would be.

“Jarl Ulfric gave us strict order to not let you out of our sight. We wouldn’t want to disobey him.” It was in that moment Iszalirah suddenly had the urge to gouge their eyes out. _They think their better than me because they were born with a penis_. But, Iszalirah was a woman who was well disciplined, and knew when restraint was needed so instead she dropped the rags she was wearing to the floor, revealing her nakedness to the two guards. She took her time putting on the sheer shift dress, showing them that they could not shame her. When she had finished putting it on, she raised an eyebrow to the guards, who just stood there speechless.

“Shall we go, then?”

~~~~~~~

Ulfric was growing anxious for news from the frontline at Whiterun. So far not a single messenger had returned, so he assumed that they had not yet reached the city. Whiterun was essential to Ulfric in gaining a more stable hold of Skyrim, it position made it a vital trading city and taking it from the Empire’s grasp would be a blow below the belt to Tullius. He was also painfully aware that in order to win the war, he would need the Dragonborn, and time was running out to get her on his side. He had convinced himself that lying with her would have persuaded her, but he had not anticipated her hardened heart that clearly belonged to another. There had been a time, where he had desired her fully, he had wanted to be able to call her his. But now she was no longer the innocent girl that had captured his interest when they had escaped the Imperials together, now it was as if she was no longer a person, but an entity. It was as if the legend of the Dovahkiin had consumed her, he no longer saw her as a woman, but as a means to an end.   
Ulfric’s train of thought was suddenly disrupted by the sound of the door to the dungeons swinging open. He was sat at the head of the narrow dining table, a tankard of Nord mead in his hand when she was escorted in. He felt blood rush to his manhood when she came into full view. The thief was a beautiful woman, there was no denying that. The deep blue sheer fabric of the dress revealed all of her curves and he soon realised that he was gripping the tankard a lot harder than he was meant to.   
Two guards, each grabbing her elbows pulled her over to the seat next to Ulfric, she shook the guards off and reluctantly sat down. Even though her attire was acceptable for dinner with a would-be King, her hair was still damp from the dungeons and hung in strands down to her lower back. But she was still a sight enough to knock the breath out of Ulfric. He suddenly remembered a time when a situation quite similar to this had occurred. He remembered the Hall full of people, and a girl with silver hair and emerald green eyes, that stared at him with such fear. Ulfric shook his head, banishing the girl from his thoughts as Iszalirah stared at him with her icy blue eyes that screamed _murder._

“How kind of you to join me. I am sorry about the conditions of your quarters but you must understand, that is how we deal with people of your kind around here.” His arrogance made her laugh, and the sound of her mocking laughter caused the Jarl to lose his composure for a split second, before his eyes returned to their usual stone cold gaze.

“Do you mean thieves or just anyone who was not born a Nord?” Her audacity made the two guards that still stood behind her chair to reach for their weapons, but Ulfric raised a hand to signal them to stand down.

“I was referring to your organisation of rats. And although I take pride in my heritage, I do not discriminate my people based on theirs.” He spoke like a true leader, but Iszalirah knew better than to trust a man who had everything to lose.

“Oh really, my Lord? Because the dark elves who have found refuge within your city walls beg to differ.” She knew that she’d struck a nerve. Iszalirah believed that Ulfric had the potential to be a good King, perhaps even a great one, but his arrogance and his bigotry held him back.   
Ulfric’s hand clenched into a fist and she could see him bit the inside of his cheek, perhaps she had taken her mockery too far this time.

“You are a beautiful woman, Iszalirah. But I’m afraid even a beauty such as yours cannot make up for your severe lack of manners in the presence of a Jarl. I’ll cut to the chase, going by the information that my scouts have gathered from Winterhold, the various Guilds appear to be gathering for some form of meeting. It does not take a scholar to realise that this is the Dragonborn’s doing. I intend to release you on the grounds that you run back to your little council that seems to think it has the power to rule Skyrim behind my back, and I want you to tell the Dragonborn that if she does not join my forces to take Solitude, I will execute her housecarl on grounds of treason and she will never see her ward again. Understood?” Ulfric’s smirk as he spoke of executing the Dragonborn’s housecarl made Iszalirah clench her fists. _This man is well and truly lost._ ButIszalirah had predicted that this would be the collateral damage of Whiterun’s fall. Iszalirah lowered her head to avoid the Jarl’s piercing gaze, she didn’t want him to see the anger that was boiling within her.

“Could you not of sent a guard to tell me this? What is the point in making me wear this dress and forcing me to dine with you?” Of course Iszlariah already knew the answer to her own question, but she felt the need to point out to Ulfric that she was well aware of his deliberate humiliation of her.

“There is nothing wrong with having a civilised meeting.” _His smirk could carve scars into stone._

Iszalirah shifted in her seat and unclenched her fists, she met his gaze that was laced with contempt with her own ice cold gaze before she spoke. “If any harm comes to the housecarl or the child, she will burn this city to the ground.” Ulfric’s smirk faded at the sound of her threat.

“Guards, take this woman back to her cell. Your orders are to release her at dawn.” Clearly Iszalirah had struck a nerve within the Jarl. She didn’t even struggle as the two guards roughly grabbed her arms and dragged her away. She only looked back when there was a sound of metal clashing to the stone floor. Ulfric had thrown his tankard across the room.

~~~~~~~

The college felt awfully empty without Mirileth’s familiars running through the halls and the sound of her laughter filling her chambers. Serana remembered what the young woman was like when they had first met, she had rarely smile and had avoided conversation until it was absolutely necessary. Usually when one meets a Daughter of Coldharbour for the first time they have many questions, which was the case with the majority of students at the College. Having to recount her vicious encounter with Molag Bal was not something that she cared for, and Mirileth respected that, and so she never asked about it. However Serana had found her reading _Immortal Blood_ in the Arcanium one evening, she suspected she was trying to find out more about her without prying. Serana almost found it endearing that Mirileth went to such lengths just to avoid making her uncomfortable.

“Are you using this seat?” A male voice awoke Serana from her deep thoughts and she found herself staring up at one of the Blades, a man around Mirileth’s age with long ginger hair.

“Clearly not, go ahead.” Serana knew that she probably shouldn’t snap at Mirileth’s guests, but her absence was making her feel on edge. The man sat down on the seat beside her and exhaled loudly.   
They were sat on a creaky wooden bench in the College courtyard next to the dreaded hatch that led to the Midden.

“How do you know Mirileth?” The young man asked after a couple of minutes of torturous silence. The pureblood vampire shifted a little to look at him and shrugged.

“I happened to be sleeping in a tomb she was exploring, you know how it goes.” She was surprised when the man chuckled at her response.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t believe that that’s all there is to it. Mirileth rarely let’s people tag along with her  like she does with you.” His boldness made her raise an eyebrow; he clearly had no clue who he was speaking with.

“I don’t tag along. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make sure that dark elf isn’t turning people into cows again.” But as Serana moved to get up, the man reached out and gently grabbed her wrist.

“I’m Erik by the way, and I saw how you looked at Mirileth and the last person who looked at her like that, nearly drove her to madness.” Serana tore her hand from his grasp and scoffed.

“I believe he’s also the same one riding with her to Whiterun. Don’t make assumptions about me again, next time I may not have the patience.” The Pureblood then proceeded to storm off, leaving Erik sitting alone on the bench. _So I was right._

 

~~~~~~~~

Lydia had her back up against the wall, sword in hand as she heard men banging on the door of Breezehome, screaming to her to let them in. She knew very well why the Stormcloaks were trying to enter the small home. She knew that she and Lucia would be valuable prisoners, she also knew that Lucia had most likely already been captured or had hopefully, found refuge with the Companions.   
An axe tore through the door and Lydia felt her arms begin to shake. _Stop, you’ve fought worse monsters than men._ As the sound of the door falling apart filled Lydia’s ears, she braced herself for the fight ahead. But it never came, because as the Stormcloaks finally managed to bust the door down, a familiar face came into sight.

“Ralof?”

~~~~~~~~

Lucia had managed to escape Dragonsreach by scaling the roof and jumping down into the pools below. She had found an old looking imperial bow and some iron arrows that she could use, she would just have to remember Lydia’s training.   
The entire city was being engulfed by flames and smoke, Lucia almost thanked the divines for the smoke, as it allowed the small girl to sneak past the soldiers unnoticed without having to use her bow. She wasn’t sure that if it came down to it, she’d be able to shoot someone, but she wouldn’t allow herself to think of that now. The streets were laced with blood and bodies, and Lucia had never wanted to break down and cry more in her life, but she knew that they’d hear her if she did.   
She made it to the Plains District without being detected, although there had been more than enough close calls.

The young girl had cut through the Drunken Huntsman to avoid the main street, but the sight that met her when she exited to the street through the main door made her gasp. Across the street, her home was engulfed by bright flames. Three figures stumbled out of the front door of Breezehome, coughing and cursing. Lucia raised her bow and aimed for the closest of the soldiers, she didn’t have time to think through her actions because in that moment she became blinded with shock and rage. _You destroyed… my home._ The iron arrow shot through the air and hit the Stormcloak in the back, piercing his armour. The soldier cried out and the other two drew their weapons and rushed to him as he collapsed to the ground. A hot tear rolled down Lucia’s freckled cheek and she felt rooted to the spot, she knew that she should run and yet she could not muster the strength to do so.   
She did not even see the figure creep up behind her. A sharp pain erupted from her neck as something sharp pierced her skin, but before she could scream a gauntlet clad hand covered her mouth, and then everything went dark.

~~~~~

Brynjolf and Mirileth had barely spoken on the long ride from Winterhold to Whiterun, as they both believed that with all that had conspired between them there was nothing left to be said. Mirileth desperately tried to pretend that the last three years had not happened, and that he was still her mentor and friend, nothing more or nothing less. Brynjolf on the other hand, wore his black cape and hood, always concealing his face from her, but there were times when Mirileth would look back at him only to find those emerald eyes already staring at her.   
They reached Honningbrew within a day and they both looked on in horror as Whiterun was surrounded by a cloud of thick black smoke. Mirileth leaped off her horse and covered her mouth with her hands as the realisation set in that Ulfric had won. Even from the Meadery she could see the all too familiar Stormcloak banners hanging over the walls of the city. _We’re too late._

“Lass, there was no way we could of got there in time, you know that.” Those were the first words he had spoken to her since they left Winterhold, and his voice somehow made her snap out of her state of shock. She turned to him to see him climb down from his horse and walk up to her.

“If they’ve won, then that means that they have Lydia and Lucia.” She whispered as a cart of full of body bags rolled into view, there was a lone Stormcloak wearing the classic Stormcloak helm that hid his features from Mirileth’s curious gaze. When Brynjolf did not reply to her comment, perhaps because no matter what he said would change her mood, she began to walk towards the cart.   
The stench was horrifying, even the Falmer dens smelt better. Mirileth pulled her fur cloak more tightly around her and came to a stop in front of the cart’s path. The driver quickly yelled at the tired looking horse to halt.

“Are these the dead of the Stormcloaks that you are transporting?” The commanding tone in her voice grabbed Brynjolf’s attention, after spending a day with her, he found himself forgetting that she was not a mere young woman but arguably the most powerful person in Skyrim.

The driver of the cart tilted his head as if to get a better look at Mirileth, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat before nodding.

“Hm, very well, I apologise for the interruption.” Mirileth said as she stepped aside to let the cart pass. Her heart missed a beat when she noticed that one of the body bags was significantly smaller than the others.

“So what’s our next move? Am I free to go?” The sound of Brynjolf’s voice broke her train of thought and she whirled round to face him, finding him standing directly behind her. He still wore the hood that concealed most of his face.

“No. We rest here for a while and then we ride for Windhelm.” The quiet rage in her voice made Brynjolf stand up a little straighter, for it was a tone he remembered all too well. The last time he had faced her like this, he had left Whiterun with a scar covering his cheek.

“I understand that you want to find your loved ones lass, but this is not my fight.” There was a warmth in his tone that surprised her, and brought back far too many distant memories.

“It is now.”


	20. Angi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay with this chapter, but it's exam season for me so it's difficult to release chapters weekly. 
> 
> There's a lot of Brynjolf/Mirileth development in this chapter and also this chapter sets up the next story in this series which will have Lucia as a central character. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy and I'll work on posting more regularly! Xx

_The water that separated Castle Volkihar was ice cold and grey. Mirileth wondered what had made the Vampire Lords want to build their home there.she glanced across the small creaky wooden boat which she had been sat in for the better part of an hour to Serana, who sat in silence, glaring at her. Mirileth's grip on the rotting wooden oars of the boat tightened ever so slightly as they drew closer to the gigantic haunting castle that dominated the coastline. Miri suspected that there was something in that castle that Serana was dreading, and she was greatly curious to find out what it was._

_"Do you mind? You've been staring at me like that since we got on this bloody boat?" Serana's eyes widened slightly at Mirileth's sudden outburst, and she slowly turned her head away._

_"You have more elven features than most Bretons, I was wondering if any of the races have changed since I was last awake." Serana sounded distant, as if she were trying to distract herself from reality. Perhaps she was still recovering from her awakening._

_"My Mother was a wood elf, I'm a half-blood." It had been a very long time since she had spoken to anyone about her Mother. The last person who had asked her about her family had been Brynjolf. Serana turned her head to face Mirileth again, but the expression on her face was unreadable to the Dragonborn. The awkward silence that seemed to last for a painful amount of time was abruptly interrupted by the row boat hitting the shore of Castle Volkihar. Serana climbed out first while Mirileth quickly stowed the oars. The Vampire stood there on the shore, gazing up at the castle that had been her home centuries before. She jumped when Mirileth leaped out of the row boat behind her._

_"Before we go inside, I must ask that you show some restraint in there, I know tha-"_

_"You have my word Serana. But as soon as I leave this island, I will resume my duties as a member of the Dawnguard." Mirileth said nonchalantly as she pushed pass the bewildered vampire. Mirileth's complete disregard for respect made Serana wonder who exactly her saviour was. That and the fact that when Serana had used her necromancy in Mirileth's presence, the young Breton had given her a look of such disgust that Serana had almost wished that she were still locked up in that god forsaken coffin._

 

                                                                           ~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The campfire provided Mirileth and Brynjolf with a little warmth and light as they took their evening rest on their journey to Windhelm. The night sky was so clear that Mirileth could make out almost every visible star and constellation, but even the beauty of the night sky was not enough to clam the rage that was boiling within her mind. What she knew was that the Stormcloaks had taken Whiterun by force and Lydia and her ward had been taken hostage. She would tear his entire palace to the ground to find them, as Lydia was her only ally that had been there from the beginning, and now she needed her more than ever. If that meant risking a full on confrontation with Ulfric, then so be it. She had not seen the Jarl since that night that they had spent together in his chamber, a night that although she wished she could forget, could still not bring herself to regret. Her thoughts were disrupted when she looked up to see Brynjolf looking over at her from across the fire, his emerald eyes shining in the light of the flames.

"You seemed miles away." His voice sent a shiver down her spine, which she chose to ignore. It was an inconvenient time for her feelings for him to resurface.

"Can I not have a mind of my own?" The dismissive tone of her voice reminding him that he was not yet out of the woods. Things would never truly be back to how they once were. Mirileth rose to her feet and pulled her white fur cloak more firmly around her shoulders.

"I was just trying to start some form of conversation." He did not even bother to mask the irritation in his voice. He too rose to his feet as Mirileth made her way around the campfire towards him. She paused a few feet away from him, her green eyes carefully studying his scarred face.

"there is something you need to know before we face Ulfric." Her voice was almost a whisper, there was a form of concern in her tone that worried Brynjolf.

"Aye lass, and what would that be?" Her hear looked more pale gold than silver in the dim light of the campfire and the shadow that it cast over her face made her eyes look black. Even after all that they had down to each other and all the time he had known her, her haunting beauty still would leave him breathless. Miri lowered her gaze to the mossy ground beneath them and for the first time since she had first come to Skyrim, she felt afraid of him. Brynjolf noticed her discomfort and it sparked his curiosity. However he suspected that whatever secret she was about to reveal to him, he was not going to like it. Mirileth took him by surprise when she took a step towards him and raised her gaze to meet his. He looked older than she remembered, perhaps his days in Riften's dungeon had taken their toll on the thief.

"I slept with Ulfric." As she said it, her voice was stone cold, and she watched as Brynjolf's eyes suddenly widened and he staggered back, as if her words had cut him like a hidden blade.

"Why are you telling me this, lass?" He sounded wounded but there was anger in his eyes. Mirileth lowered her gaze once more, his reaction was giving her hope that he still cared for her, and she knew it would destroy her. Within seconds Brynjolf was upon her, he seized her by her wrists and pushed her up against a tree that lined the clearing they had set up camp on. In a flash he had pinned her hands above her head. Miri wanted to scream, or to shout him off her but it was as if all her will power had abandoned her. Her gaze never left his and their breathing had grown heavy from the sudden outburst of violence.

"Of all the men in this damned land, him?! Did you forget lass, the way he treated you when you were under his care? I could smell from a mile away the intentions he had on you." Brynjolf was scaring her, not that she would ever show any signs of fear, she was not the girl that he had rescued in Bruma all those years ago.

"You need to know, Ulfric knows about how intimate we were... You hurt me. I was lonely and I needed to know what it was like to be truly desired." Miri felt relieved that she had somehow managed to prevent her voice from cracking. Brynjolf's hands suddenly moved from her wrists to her neck and Miri seized the opportunity to use her newly freed hands to push him off her, but all she succeeded in doing was making Brynjolf's grasp around her throat to tighten.

"Br- Bryn..."

For a moment she thought that would be it. That was how destiny had seen fit for her to die, at the hands of the man she loved. She wasn't sure whether it was his realisation that he was killing her, or the way she had tried to call out his name, but either was Brynjolf dropped his hands from her neck and turned away from her, burying his face in the hands that had nearly strangled her.

"I never... I'm sorry. I-" he began, his voice softer than it had been mere moments earlier. He was cut off when Mirileth suddenly grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn to face her. There were tears in her eyes and a pang of guilt hit him when he saw bruises beginning to form where his hands had been. A single tear fell from her eye and began it's decent down her cheek. Before Brynjolf realised what he was doing, he wiped her tear away with his hand. He looked down into her deep green eyes that were laced with hurt and confusion.

Mirileth did not know what possessed her at that point, but she felt an urge taking over her and before he had time to react, she reached up and crashed her lips against his. The kiss was sudden and rushed, but soon they both let go of their surroundings and what had just conspired between them and Brynjolf's hands descended to her waist as her own hands reached up and tangled in the back of his auburn hair. The thief gently bit her plump bottom lip, urgently requesting entrance to her mouth, which she granted hastily. As their kiss deepened, memories of their previous encounters began to flood back into Brynjolf's mind, memories that Maven had made him seal in his mind behind an iron wall.

 

_He opened his heavy eyelids to the sight of a darkened room. It was almost pitch black and he could only make out the shapes of the furniture that occupied Honeyside. He could feel Miri's head resting on his bare chest; he gently ran his hand through he tangled hair and listened to her deep even breathing as she slept. He knew that it had been an unwise decision to spend another night at her side, but since the first time he had spent the night with her, she haunted his every waking thought._

_When he had first laid eyes on her, she had been little more than a frightened child, and now she was a woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders and she was more than he would ever be. He pushed her ashen hair off the side of her face and smiled at the way she looked so innocent when she slept._

 

Miri pulled the string of his tunic, and it opened revealing his scarred chest. Neither of them broke the kiss, even as Brynjolf guided her to the ground and clothing was shed from their bodies. There was a desperation in their embrace, and as their passion grew Brynjolf's thoughts shifted to the memories that had set him against her.

 

_Mirileth shifted onto the balls of her feet so that her face was next to his ear, he could feel her breath on him, and he fought the urge to wrap his arms around her._

_"You should have let me die."_

 

Brynjolf's eyes flew open and he found himself gazing wide-eyed down at her as she lay on the mossy ground beneath him, the look in her eyes telling him that she understood his hesitation. Her hand reached up to his cheek and her fingers traced the large scar that had been left by her bound blade. In an instant her other hand grabbed his shoulder and flipped him onto the ground beside them so that she hovered over him.

Mirileth leant down and placed a soft kiss on the scar and began to trail kisses down to his collarbone, occasionally biting at the vulnerable spots on his neck, as she remembered where each of them were. Brynjolf wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body closer to his. The only light covering them came from the slow dying fire beside them. If the two reconciled lovers had diverted their attention solely from each other, they may have seen a pair of dimly glowing crimson eyes watching over them.

 

                                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~

 

The first thing that stirred Lucia form her unconciousness was the stench of death. She recognised it from the smell that would come form Anoriath's stall if he did not manage to sell all his produce within a couple of days of the hunt. The second disturbance which awoke her was the violent rocking of the surfaces he appeared to be lying on. When she opened her eyes all she could see was some sort of stained thick fabric that was covering her. Lucia wanted to scream but her throat was so dry that all she could manage was a weak croak. She could hear what sounded like cart wheels against stones and dirt. Panic began to rise through her body. There was a painful ache at the back of her head and she remembered that was where she had been hit. She remembered Stormcloaks setting her house on fire, and that Lydia must have been inside. Due to her severe dehydration, Lucia could not even bring herself to cry as she feared that she would never see Lydia again. The only thing that brought Lucia a glimmer of hope was the thought that Mirileth would come looking for her. Lucia knew that she was often referred to as the Dragonborn's ward, and that had gained her some status in Whiterun, it allowed her into Dragonsreach and stopped Braith from tormenting her as she did Lars, but that was about it.

Lucia's panicked thoughts were disrupted when the cart suddenly came to an abrupt hault, and the sound of boots hitting the ground and footsteps drawing closer made Lucia hold her breath. Suddenly the fabric that was covering her was torn off her and she found herself glaring up at a tall Stormcloak soldier, his face covered by a guard's helmet. Lucia used her bound feet to push back away from him but only succeeded in pushing herself up against a dead body wrapped in the same linen that she had been. This only panicked her more as she glanced around frantically.

"Stop. You'll only hurt yourself." A deep Nordic voice told her calmly. A voice she recognised.

Ralof took off the helmet that had been covering his face for their entire journey. There was blood in his golden hair and splattered across his face, but somehow Lucia knew that she was going to be alright. Ralof pulled a flask out of his pouch and leaned over to the scared girl, allowing her to hydrate herself. 

"There, there. I'm going to undo your bindings, but you have to promise me you won't go running off." He smiled at her, although there was something haunting behind it. Lucia nodded as he took out a small iron dagger and cut the rope that had been digging into her skin.

"Wh- where's Lydia?"

There it was, the question he had been dreading since they had left Whiterun. Ralof smiled again, but this time it became clear to Lucia that it was forced.

"I'll tell you when we get there. It's not long now." His voice was soft, but it was still not enough to convince Lucia, who grew more confused with every second. Ralof scooped Lucia up in his blood soaked arms and began to carry her away from the cart.

"Where' there?" Her small voice began to tremble, but even as she looked up at him, he did not look back as his gaze remained fixed on the path ahead. It wasn't much of a path, there were trees everywhere and it was densely populated deer.

"We're in Falkreath, just a while outside of the city, but we won't be going there."

The rest of the short journey was carried out in painful silence. Lucia could see that Ralof was struggling with her weight and the uphill climb that they were having to make, but not once did he offer to put her down. It wasn't long until they reached a clearing in the trees. Lucia saw a small wooden house built into the side of a mountain on a rocky terrain. On closer inspection she determined that it was more of a hut than a house, as it had no door or windows.

Ralof placed Lucia carefully on the ground, as he was uncertain that she wod be able to walk, but the girl managed just fine. There was a tall Nord woman dressed in a simple dress with a bow and quiver strapped to her back that came out to greet them. She looked cautious, and one hand seemed ready to draw her bow at any minute. Ralof shot the woman a weak smile and gave Lucia a gentle nudge forward.

"Ralof? You're covered in blood! And who is this? You know not to bring strangers here!" The woman shouted in a similar accent to Ralof's. The Stormcloak, instead of responding to her questions, walked up to her and put an arm end her shoulder.

"Let's talk inside. Lucia wait out here, and don't go wandering off." He seemed so calm, which Lucia could not comprehend given the circumstances. The girl nodded at the pair and turned her gaze to the magnificent view that the clearing possessed given it's position on the mountainside. The woman suddenly grabbed Ralof's arm and marched him into the hut. Once inside, she span around to face him, giving him a death stare that would pierce any man's armour.

"You cannot just come up here unannounced and bring a child with you! And you're covered in blood, the guards must have noticed you!" She bellowed at him, Ralof wild have t find a way to get her to quieten down, otherwise Lucia would hear them.

"We've come from Whiterun, Ulfric finally made a move and took it by force. The girl is the ward of a friend, she's an orphan. I need you to take care of her, Angi." He tried to lower his voice as much as possible in hope that Angi would do the same.

"Look after her? Here? Have you lost your mind? This is no place for a child to live. And I have no use for her here, what about her guardian?"

"Her guardian... Can't look after her anymore. Please Angi, I beg of you, if the bond that we shared meant anything to you then you will do this for me." He was ready to get down on his knees and beg when the creak of a floorboard made the pair spin round to see Lucia standing in the doorway.

"She's dead isn't she. Lydia's dead."

Lucia looked so hurt that Ralof didn't know how to respond, but his silence gave the girl he answer she needed. Lucia spat at Ralo's feet and ran out the door. Ralof went to go after her but Angi stuck her arm out in front of him, making him stop.

"You need to leave, Ralof. I will find her, there is no where she can run to here. I will take care of the girl, but you must promise me that one day you will come back for her." Angi looked up into Ralof's blue eyes, remembering times when they had kept her awake at night.

"Thank you, Angi. She's a clever girl, and she's good with a bow so I'm sure you will get along. I just-" "You don't have to explain yourself, I trust you. But you should go, and clean yourself up before someone sees you." Angi's voice was softer, something about the hurt in that girl's brown eyes had reminded her of a similar time in her own life. Angi had lived up in that mountain on her own for a little less than a decade, perhaps a companion would not be so bad. Without another word Ralof leant down and aced a gently kiss on Angi's cheek and rushed out, leaving Angi with the task of finding Lucia, before the wolves did.


	21. The Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the long wait, but unfortunately I procrastinate like a pro.   
> This is a short chapter as it's meant to set up for the two part ending. I'm gonna be sad to see this one go.

The Palace of Kings was deep in slumber. The only sounds heard within its halls were the clinking of the guards’ chainmail and the distant sound of boots upon the cold stone floor. Ulfric had developed a habit of staying up till the early hours of the morning writing and reading reports from his camps spread across Skyrim. However on that particular night, one report had kept him from sleep longer than usual. He sat on the edge of his bed, dressed only in his breeches, his entire room littered with papers and scrolls he had ordered his steward to deliver to his room the night before. He sat with his head bowed and eyes tightly shut as a he grasped a now crumpled report in his hands. He had read the same report over and over again, the words engrained in his mind.

_My Jarl,_

_It is with great regret that I must inform you that the two hostages you requested from Whiterun both perished during the siege. Their home was hit by one of our catapults, and it burnt to the ground before I could reach them. I have failed you._

_Ralof._

Ulfric tossed the report to the floor and buried his face in his hands. There would be no hope for an alliance between him and Mirileth now, not even a conscripted one. She would be coming after him for sure, and judging by the date on the report, she would reach him soon. She had been sighted in the outskirts of Whiterun during after the siege, so there was no way she was not aware of the fate which had befallen her loved ones. The Jarl rose from his bed and trudged over to his dresser where he pulled on his fur robe before turning to stand in front of the fireplace, where he waited. And he did not have to wait long.

“Ulfric.”

Her voice, he would recognise it anywhere, even though it had been long since they had last spoken. He spun around to face her and saw her, not looking at him, but at the sea of parchment that covered the stone floor of his chamber. She looked… deflated. Her posture seemed so relaxed and when her eyes met his, it was as if she was not entirely present. She seemed so empty, and it chilled him to the bone.

“I know why you have come.” She’d come to kill him, he had no doubt. She stood more to gain with him dead rather than alive, and now she also possessed revenge as her motive. But her response caught the Jarl off guard. Mirileth took a step forward so that she was no longer standing in his doorway, and shook her head gently.

“No, you really don’t.” He saw her eyes dart from his to the fireplace before she shook her head again and turned away from him.

“When I knew that they were dead, I too thought that I had to kill you. That is how it works right? You kill the people I love and I come after you." Ulfric didn’t move in fear of startling her, he was after all unarmed, and he had seen the daggers strapped to her leather clad thighs. He was surprised that she had come alone. Gaining entrance to the Palace of Kings with so many guards posted single handed was an impressive feat. Mirileth walked around Ulfric, kicking papers out of her way as she went, he noticed that she always kept a hand close to her blades. She was many things, but a fool was most certainly not one of them. There were dark circles under her eyes which told him that sleep had been a luxury she could not afford, and that somehow made her seem that much more intimidating to him.

“If you are not here to kill me, then what other reason is there for you to be in my chambers?” He had not meant it to sound quite so promiscuous, but she had him completely baffled and he struggled to maintain his usual cold and collected self, let alone manage to not say wildly inappropriate things.

 

_“So lass, what exactly is our plan here? Just march in and hope his guards have the day off?” Brynjolf inquired from the seat opposite her as they sat with a tankard of mead each at the Candlehearth Hall. Mirileth raised a brow at him before letting out a light laugh._

_“I think I know my way around Ulfric’s base well enough. I’ve been dragged there enough times.” And then there was an awkward silence between them. Mirileth could tell that he wanted to know more about her ‘time’ spent in the palace, but given they’re only recent reconciliation, he was not sure whether he was off the thin ice quite yet. After around a minute’s worth of pained silence, Brynjolf finally spoke._

_“So you so have a plan.” He said as he gazed down into the contents of his tankard, blatantly avoiding her gaze. Mirileth let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose._

_“Not much of one, but it will do. I need you to go to the stables and hide our horses in the usual spot. I shouldn’t of left Shadowmere out in the open.” Brynjolf met her gaze and chuckled. “_

_It’s not like you to be so forgetful lass.” Mirleth blushed and got up from her chair in one of the hall’s darker corners. “You were… distracting me, besides it’s not as if you remembered to hide them either.” She shot him a wink before pulling her cape around her shoulders._

_“Where you off to? You’re not thinking of going in withouth me, eh?” Brynjolf teased as he too got up and pressed his forehead to hers. Mirileth closed her eyes and smiled before pulling away from him._

_“I’d never dream of it, but I need to check in on Aventus. I’ll meet you at the stables.”And then she was gone before Brynjolf could protest her absence._

_It felt so strange to be close to her again, it had seemed such an impossible possibility merely days before. Brynjolf glanced around the tavern, making sure that no one was paying too much attention to him. Satisifed that everyone appeared to be sufficiently preoccupied with themselves, he made his way out into the brutal coldness of Windhelm. He took a detour to the market to see one of the Guild’s associates and it became evident to the thief that there were a pair of eyes on him. He could feel them, but whenever he turned to see who the piercing gaze he felt upon his skin belonged to, his own gaze met nothing._

_“You have a very good intuition, thief.”_

_Brynjolf froze. His head snapped round as his hands shot down to the daggers at his belt._

_“Who in Oblivion are you?” He panted at the hooded women who was leaning against a wall not even three feet away from him._

_“That doesn’t really matter.” Serana said as she pulled her hood further down over her face to shield her crimson eyes. “What matters is who you are. And what you’re about to do.”_


End file.
